Saturday Mornings in Paris
by RosesInSeptember
Summary: Single mother and New York fashion editor Regina has the opportunity to move to Paris, but when she arrives in the city in hopes of a fresh start and a chance to finally move on from the man she once loved, she finds a stranger living in her apartment. Gradually the two begin to bond over their mutual desire for second chances. Modern AU Outlaw Queen.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, and welcome to the story! I had an idea for an OutlawQueen AU. I started writing, and before I knew it, was up to 13,000 words. I felt like sharing, so here is chapter 1. I hope you enjoy my first attempt at an OUAT fic. Of course, I don't claim any ownership over the characters, although all events and characters in this story are modified quite a bit from their original OUAT inspirations to fit into this modern-day AU. Happy reading. - Ana aka. FadedSeptember_

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><p>"We're here," Regina said, smiling down at her chestnut-haired 10 year old son, who merely answered her with a yawn.<p>

They'd just walked in the early Saturday morning light from the metro station, where they'd made slow but steady progress from their transatlantic flight that had landed at Charles de Gaulle only about an hour and a half prior. She glanced at her phone: it was only 7:30 am, which meant 1:30 am back home in New York. No wonder Henry looked like three sheets in a wind. She dropped the phone back into her cluttered bag filled with half-eaten snacks from the plane, her laptop, phone, Henry's iPad, and assorted pens and billfolds and passport holders.

"You can nap soon," she promised him, as she turned the first key in the exterior door of the tall, narrow old apartment building.

"Here it is. Our new life, Henry. In _grandmaman_'s apartment. Or… ours. _Our_ apartment."

"I hope there's Internet."

"I think we're going to have to wait a few days for that, my dear. Let me go in first."

With a bit of effort, she grabbed the suitcase with more valuable items in it, leaving their others at the bottom of the stairs in the tiny, tile-floor vestibule, hoping that no one would decide to steal the newcomers' suitcases on their first morning in Paris. They'd only been allowed four checked bags (she didn't want to pay for more than two extra bags on the flight over), and those four bags held all of the worldly possessions that they would hopefully need from back home over the next few years.

"Paris is old," Henry observed sleepily as he trailed behind her.

"It is," Regina agreed, her eyes following the quaint antique polished wood banister of the narrow staircase as it twirled its way upstairs. On the main floor, there were two old wood doors on either side of the narrow hall. The building must have two small apartments on each floor.

"We're going up to the third floor," Regina directed as she gritted her teeth and hoisted up the relatively heavy suitcase. She cursed her shoes: they were fine for sitting on a plane for 7 hours, not so great for climbing up stairs. Henry obediently, if not a little sleepily, followed.

It was a small, old stairway, but its marble floors and polished banister made it feel luxurious, Regina thought excitedly to herself, anxious to see what Henry's paternal grandparents' apartment would look like. _Her_ apartment, she corrected in her thoughts. It was hard to imagine she now owned property, and in Paris, of all places. As hard as she'd worked for nearly 10 years, she'd never owned anything other than a few pieces of furniture back in New York.

"Is this it?" Henry asked as they arrived on the third floor.

"3A… this is the one," Regina said, sighing in relief as she set down the suitcase.

She pressed the old-fashioned skeleton key into the keyhole and gently gave it a nudge.

The door pushed open more easily than she expected for an apartment that had sat lonely for years. The wood didn't even stick even though it was a warm, and slightly damp, day in late May.

Inside, it was dark despite the early morning sun, but Regina expected this, as the apartment had been closed for 10 years and of course some blinds or curtains would be drawn. She clutched the keys in her hand as she tentatively walked inside, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark. Henry lingered in the hall, peering in after her. She motioned for him to stay put.

Unfortunately, as her heeled shoes clicked along the charmingly well-worn parquet wood floor, Regina began to have the uneasy sense that something was wrong. _Very_ wrong. She stared dumbly at the keys in her hand for a moment. _This couldn't be the wrong apartment, right? _her sleep-deprived brain wondered.

No. Of course not. The keys had worked just fine. They were exactly what Henry's grandparents had given her. Henry's grandmother had presented Regina with a crinkled manilla envelope just a few weeks ago. Regina had reached in and pulled out the keys tucked inside, heavy iron things that looked as though they were from another era, filled with the promise of new possibilities, the promise of a different future, for Regina and her son.

This _had_ to be the right place. How silly to think that something felt off.

She glanced around at the small apartment, and even in the darkness and despite her rapidly-beating heart she was impressed with its size. It was relatively small, of course, as most apartments are in old European cities, but Regina and Henry had had a rather small apartment back in New York and this seemed to be a comfortable size in comparison to that. It did smell faintly of dust, but there were other smells lingering, too, and these were the cause for her disquiet. She walked through the main room, its large floor-to-ceiling windows with curtains drawn tightly shut along the far wall.

A half-drunk bottle of red wine sat on a small table, along with a few plates containing crumbs and what appeared to be half a sandwich. It looked reasonably fresh, a sandwich that had been sitting out for no more than a night or so. It had absolutely _not_ been there for ten years, which was, according to Henry's grandmother, the last time she'd visited. Of course, the woman had dutifully recorded for her the name of someone who had looked after the apartment from time to time: Marguerite, who also lived in the building. Perhaps Marguerite had checked in on the apartment recently.

"Hello?" Regina called nervously, her voice cutting through the dark apartment. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a kitchen tucked away immediately to the right of the entrance, a shiny espresso maker sitting on the tiny countertop.

"Henry, stay in the hall," she called back to him, making sure he was still there but not wandering into the apartment after her.

She heard his faint "okay," from the hall.

She began to dig for her phone in her carry-on bag. Damn all the travelling: she couldn't find it in her massive Longchamps bag. If she'd had her normal purse, a delicate Chanel bag, it would already be in her hands.

She continued walking through the apartment, her hand fishing frantically through her bag.

"Hello?" she called again as she stepped through a door, her heart seemingly thudding in her throat. But it was a tiny tiled bathroom. Nothing there except a bath towel, she noticed. Curious.

She returned to the main room. On one side was a door, closed. On the other side, French doors.

"Hello?" she called again, pushing open one of the French doors.

And there, lying in a what appeared to be a pull-out sofa, was a man.

"What!" She half squealed, half-gasped.

The lump of a man moved and groaned.

"Oh, bloody gravy on toast…!" a man, naked except for some rather tight-fitting dark green boxing shorts, sprung up on the bed the second he registered he was no longer alone.

He clicked on a light switch, worse expletives spilling out of his mouth.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, running his hands nervously through his short brown hair.

"I think I should ask you that!" Regina said, backing up instinctively, looking him up and down - where _was_ the damn phone - though there was something distinctly non-threatening about this individual.

"Why are you in my apartment?" Regina asked.

..•..

At any given point in someone's life, one wonders what it might be like to live in Paris. Or any of the great cities in the world, for that matter: New York. London. Rome. Rio. Sydney. Tokyo. So many beautiful city lights, cultures, cuisines… and the fashion. Regina's favorite part.

Regina always wondered what it might be like to live in Paris. After all, she'd studied French in high school, and even did a semester exchange there in her second to last semester at Columbia. It was everything she had hoped it would be: picturesque, a city filled with art and music and history, delicious food and perfect fashion. She polished her French skills and the opportunity to study her favourite fashion designers first hand was unbelievable: during that semester, she spent free time wandering in and out of the great designers' boutiques, as well as haunting the endless fantastic flea markets that were scattered around the metropolis.

She'd also met Daniel in Paris.

He was her age, French. Though, ironically, he had grown up in the United States: his parents had moved to the U.S. from France when he was young. When Regina met him in Paris, he was in France briefly on a trip with some friends, a jaunt around Europe to celebrate their graduation from an MBA program. Regina had met him one night in a smoky bar (Paris still allowed smoking in bars back then) and by the end of the night they were kissing passionately in a tiny alley near the Eiffel Tower.

It had been like a sweeping romance movie. Regina had never felt anything like that, with anyone. Maybe it was the location, the atmosphere, the intoxicating city with its impeccable streets and delicious food and wine and sultry late-summer air that seemed to shimmer between them… but she fell hard. They saw each other every night Daniel was in Paris, and when he left, they parted ways, amicably, haphazardly agreeing to meet again back in the U.S., though both knew that was unlikely.

It had been a whirlwind romance, like a brief, delicious fairy tale…

That is, until Regina returned home at the end of her semester in December, and discovered she was pregnant.

"My life is over before it even began," she recalls sobbing to her friend.

Her parents, her conservative, hardworking parents from Maine, were even more devastated.

Regina graduated from college, pregnant, and gave birth the following spring.

She also reconnected with Daniel, not expecting much, when they were both back in the U.S., he settling in Manhattan where he worked for his father's company. She didn't expect him to care about her - or the baby - after only a short time of knowing each other in Paris. She'd travelled down to Connecticut from Maine, where she was back living with her own family, and met his family. The area was so different than her small hometown in Maine. It was intimidating, in a way: his parents were clearly society types, and Regina was just… Regina. From a humble family who owned a dairy farm in Maine. She liked French fashion and _cafe au lait, _but that was all the class she knew. She didn't expect anything from him, however; merely wanted to allow her son to have some form of connection with his biological father.

But she and Daniel reconnected.

For the first few months of Henry's life, Daniel _was_ a father to him. Regina and Henry moved into his sun-filled apartment in the upper West Side and she felt herself falling for the man whom she had regarded as little more than a fling in Paris. His parents were kind and accepting of their situation, even though Daniel and Regina were living together before marriage. (Her parents were a different story, but they were in Maine, and so she kept them at arm's length and dodged questions about their cohabitation). Before Henry's first birthday, Regina recalls coming home to Daniel after work, spending time with Henry, cooking dinner together and cleaning up. It was difficult in some ways, the domesticity of it all, the fact that she knew her career wasn't going anywhere she expected to, but at the same time, oddly blissful. They had become a family.

It all changed when Daniel died.

For a few years, Regina stayed in New York. For lack of direction, she applied to the New School and did a master's at Parson's. She knew she was solely responsible for the boy now and needed to have a better career to care for him forever. Those years were a blur, somehow balancing school, freelance work for fashion magazines, and being a mother. But she liked being busy, as it distracted her from the heavy loss of Daniel. Her late nights of studying and running around between her classes and sending Henry to school only managed to further her ambition, which ultimately resulted in a job offer in the fashion industry. She had a career again. She could afford a life of her own, rather than living off of the generosity of Daniel's family.

Even as her career grew and grew in the industry and Regina worked late nights and weekends and every moment she could before and after the time when Henry got home from school and went to bed, she always made time to do one thing at least once every two or three months, and that was to drive to Connecticut. She and Henry spent 2 weeks each summer with Daniel's parents. They exchanged Christmas cards and shared photos over the years, Regina happy to include her son's paternal grandparents from their lives. She supposed… it was all a way for her to maintain her connection with Daniel. In a weird way, she felt close to them when she and Henry were with his parents at his childhood home.

But Daniel's parents were a good ten years older than her own, and Regina noticed, the summer she turned 30, that they were growing older, well into their 70s, having more trouble remembering things, having a hard time keeping up with their nine year old grandson who liked to show them things and wanted them to read stories to him. Regina wondered how many years were left when she and Henry could travel down to see them. She was terrified of the day when she would no longer spend time "with" Daniel, at his home, surrounded by the life he'd once had, as a carefree boy who didn't know he knew he would live such an impossibly short life.

It was the week before her 30th birthday, and Regina and Henry had just spent the week with Daniel's parents. They would be going back to New York that evening. They were sitting down for an early dinner beforehand.

"Thank you again - so much - for bringing Henry to see us. It's so wonderful to see you both. We're so lucky you still want us in your lives," his grandmother, Camille, said.

"Please." Regina said, as all three of them watched Henry chase some sort of insect flying around the emerald green lawn. "We love it here. We're lucky you want us to keep visiting you."

"You are still working for that fashion magazine?"

Regina nodded. "One of their editors."

"You look so tired. You aren't wearing yourself into the ground, are you?" Daniel's mother asked.

Regina sighed. "I don't know. I like my job. But it's long hours. Away from home."

"Are you sure you like it?" Camille questioned.

"It's hard, sometimes…" Regina's voice trailed off. "I wish I had more time to spend with him. I loved my job, at first. But now, I am really in it for the money."

"I thought you liked writing? Or are you tired of it?"

"No, no, not tired. I'm mainly tired of the early morning meetings, the late night events, the pressure and competition that is so present in this industry. It seeps into my work - really effects me, I suppose." Regina replied.

How was it that she could always be so open and honest with Daniel's family, but never her own, never any of her friends or the few other men she'd briefly dated from time to time? They were just so… comfortable to her. She fiddled with the simple ring Daniel had bought for her at a flea market in Paris that she kept on her right hand.

"If you want to try to do something less… taxing, we can help, you know. We'll always help you two," the woman said.

Regina nodded again. This was a conversation she had with Daniel's parents every summer. The truth was that they were wealthy - quite wealthy, they even owned a polo team in Europe - but Regina had always managed to dodge having to take any money from them, minus the generous gifts that they sent Henry for his birthday, which she kept saved in a bank account for when he was older. They used to outright offer her money, but she always refused on a matter of principle. She'd had help from her parents years ago when she really needed it when Henry was first born, but now she didn't.

"We know you don't want our money, but we have something for you," Daniel's mother put quite bluntly as she kept her eyes trained on Henry. "If you want it."

Daniel's father, who had been standing next to a massive column on the front porch of the house near where they were sitting and watching Henry, heard them, and sat down with them at the wrought iron bistro table.

"As you know, we own property in Paris. And we simply cannot take care of it any more. We were going to put it on the market, but then, we realized that you and Henry might appreciate it," Henry's grandmother continued.

"I- I don't think we can go on vacation to France any time soon."

"We were wondering if you would like to go there - for a while," said Henry's grandfather, Julien. "You could relax from your hectic schedule. Find the kind of work you want to do. And if so, we have an apartment that we've owned for decades in Paris that we haven't been to in at least 5-"

"10." corrected his grandmother.

"-10 years." his grandfather finished.

"What do you mean?" Regina asked.

"What we mean, dear, is that you and Henry can have the apartment," Camille said, looking gently into her eyes.

"Oh, no," Regina's eyes dropped to her lap. "I couldn't."

"Yes, you can. This time, accept a gift from us. We want our grandson to know about where some of his roots are… you have tried to teach him French, and he's doing well, but we wonder if you might like to send him to school there for a while. Only if you want, of course. Or can. But we want to provide you with this possibility," said Julien.

"In fact, it's already arranged," Camille said. "We don't want to force you to go if you don't want - but the apartment is now in your name. There is also a bank account, with enough money to pay for utilities for a while, since the cost of living is, obviously, higher…

"I can't." Regina said firmly.

"Think about it," said Julien.

"Just think about it - it's all we ask," echoed Camille. "And if you truly don't want it, that is fine. You may sell it and keep the money as a nest egg for both you and Henry. We want you both to have a good future."

"Why are you doing this?" Regina said, perplexed.

"As we said, we want Henry to be more aware of his roots, from his father's side. But we also believe you - maybe you would like a new start? And…" his grandmother looked over at her husband, and he nodded at her, encouraging her on.

"…because Daniel was going to take you there, the autumn he died. He was going to show it to you - and the apartment would have been yours after you were married."

"After…?" Regina's voice trailed off.

Daniel's father swallowed, clearly fighting back tears. "He was going to propose to you there. He had it all planned - you were to visit Paris that autumn. Your plane tickets, of course, were never used."

Eyes brimming with tears, Regina nodded. That evening, she accepted the gift. She went back to Manhattan and to her hectic urban lifestyle there, but in her mind, she'd already moved out of their generic apartment. Over the next few days, she was fixated - even obsessed - with moving into that apartment in Paris. Maybe, just maybe, it could provide the closure she'd always craved… and give her the fresh start she'd been looking for all of these years.

She couldn't help but feel it was one last gift from Daniel.

..•..

"Your apart-what?" the man was wiggling into a pair of pants that had been lying on the floor. Once he got those on, he popped on a grey t-shirt that had been haphazardly tossed on the nightstand.

Regina's heart was thudding in her chest as she still sifted through her carry on bag, desperately trying to locate her phone. _Did 911 work in France?_

"Oh," he said, an expression of realization dawning over his face.

Regina simply looked at him, watched as she struggled into his clothes.

"Oh," he said again, a bit more firmly, grabbing at some more clothes that had been haphazardly strewn around the room and stuffing them into a duffle bag.

"I've… I've no right to be here," he stammered, looking down, scooping up things as quickly as possible.

"Precisely. What are you doing here?" She finally got her voice back.

He looked up at her, his grey-blue eyes boring into her. "I'll be honest. I've been squatting for a few months."

"Ah - okay. Really? So, do I call the police?" Regina stammered, quickly growing angry about the situation.

He looked back at her, clearly nervous now. "If you wish, I suppose," he muttered.

"Yeah, I honestly - is it 911 here, or…?" she muttered to herself, _finally_ locating her phone in her bag -it had been wedged in the pages of a book - and pulling it out.

"Not here, no. It's 112, if you're calling from a mobile," the man continued to gather a few things and shoved them into a backpack.

"Are you serious right now?" Regina looked at him, torn between whether she should be running for her life, crying or laughing.

"It would be the appropriate thing to do," he answered somewhat primly.

"Just - how did you get in? Do you know my in-laws?" Regina asked, dumbfounded.

He glanced at her. "I'm friends with Emma. She lives downstairs, and she, or someone in her family, had been given a key about a decade or so ago in case of an emergency. And, well, I don't think she ever really needed it or used it, because she didn't hear from the owners of this flat for years. Finally, well, she knew I had this… situation in my life, where I needed an apartment nearby, fast and cheap, and so she let me use it. Temporarily."

"Temporarily?" Regina questioned.

He nodded. "Ah, yeah, I've only been doing this for, maybe, well, 3 months."

"I didn't know 'temporary' meant 3 months."

"Look, I will pay you, whatever you want. I'll get out of your way." The man rolled up his sleeves and got to work finishing packing, collecting the few things he seemed to have scattered around and stored in the nightstand's drawer, putting them into a suitcase. As he worked, Regina noticed he had a tattoo on his right forearm. She couldn't tell what it was from the angle where she was standing, but the ink was dark, and it was about the size of a tennis ball.

"Yeah, maybe a good idea to just go," Regina said, her nerves subsiding and a strange feeling of anger at the betrayal taking their place. Not betrayal of her, but rather, Henry's grandparents. This incursion into their own property. She crossed her arms as she watched him finish gathering up things, following him out into the main room.

"Right. That's all." the man announced, giving her a nod. He did a quick pass through the rest of the house, taking a few other things with him, tossing the towel from the bathroom over his shoulders and picking up a pair of dress shoes near the door.

Near the door, he pulled out two skeleton keys that were identical to the ones Regina had and held them up for her to see. He looked into her eyes.

"I'll just leave you these," he said. "I'm sorry for the trouble."

He left.


	2. Chapter 2

Regina wanted to get out of that apartment as soon as possible, so only a few minutes after the man left, and after making sure he was gone for sure and not lingering downstairs, she locked the door again, took both sets of keys, and as calmly as possible directed Henry out of the building, not saying much about the incident for fear of scaring him. Or scaring herself all over again.

She used her phone to find a nearby hotel, and cursing because she knew it would be expensive to stay even one night in a hotel, she hailed a taxi and gave him the address. She needed a safe place to stay that day and figure out what to do.

..•..

The hotel they'd found was cozy, old, looked over the charming rooftops of Paris… and expensive, even thought it was a relatively modest accommodation. By the second day, Regina knew that they shouldn't stay there for more than another night. It was time to figure out the apartment situation.

..•..

Regina learned that Marguerite, the woman whom Henry's grandmother had said she'd left a set of keys with just in case, was supposed to be in apartment 2A. Instead of calling Henry's grandparents, who couldn't really do much for her 6,000 miles away and she was afraid of upsetting them with news of the situation, she decided to go directly to Marguerite and get the story.

When she and Henry returned to the building, both felt more rested and were far more alert, at least. Regina even brought one of their suitcases along with them, so she could start making the apartment feel more like theirs. The previous day she'd bought cleaning supplies so she could tidy up after the uninvited guest, and some food, so they could at least have a somewhat normal meal cooked in their kitchen that evening.

Their neighborhood truly was beautiful. Amidst all of the confusion of finding a stranger in her apartment and the haze of jet lag, she'd forgotten that they were in Paris. A bright sun in a pretty cerulean sky illuminated the historical cream-coloured buildings with their tall windows and charming architectural details. It was a magnificent city, every bit as charming as she remembered. No wonder she'd fallen for Daniel here. It was a city worthy of their romance.

At the building, Regina buzzed 2A. A woman answered in French.

"Bonjour, Marguerite?" Regina asked.

"No. I'm her granddaughter, Emma," replied the woman in French.

"Oh. I'm living in 3A now and I was told to talk to you about the apartment," Regina replied in French.

The door clicked open, and Regina and Henry stepped inside.

Emma's apartment was cool, sleek and updated, every bit the opposite of what Regina had seen in her shabby apartment yesterday. Emma's apartment kind of looked like a high-end Ikea catalogue, very much inspired by Scandinavian designs often pictured in the interior design magazines that Regina sometimes read.

"Come in," the tall, blonde woman said in lightly-accented English after they'd introduced themselves at the entry. The woman's combat-style boots thudded on the sleek dark wood floors of her apartment as she led them to the sitting area near a high window.

"Coffee? It's the only thing I can do, sorry I can't make you anything else. Oh, and I have juice for the kid?" She studied Regina and Henry.

"No, thank you, Henry and I don't want to bother you," said Regina.

Emma hesitated. Regina suddenly realized that maybe that wasn't the polite thing to do in France.

"You know, I misspoke. I actually would like a coffee. And Henry will take a juice. Thank you," she corrected.

Emma seemed content with this answer, and busied herself in the tiny, yet sleek, kitchen - it would be the size of a closet in the U.S., Regina thought to herself.

"So you're in 3A now? I'm amazed, that apartment has been empty for years."

"It belonged to my son's grandparents, who are French but live in the United States now," explained Regina. "It is mine now. They wanted us to have a new chance here in Paris."

"Amazing. That's a really nice place, you know. Good-sized apartments like that are hard to come by here these days."

"I suppose so. So, I assume you know why I'm here. I want to know who has been sleeping in the apartment?' Regina decided to cut straight to the point as Emma handed her a tiny, steaming cup of coffee. It looked like espresso, with a bit of foam on top.

"I'm really sorry about that. I have no idea what to say other than to apologize. He had no right to be there, and it's my fault he was. Your grandparents -"

"Henry's grandparents."

"Sorry, his grandparents, knew my grandmother, Marguerite, who used to live here. They'd asked her if she'd hold on to a key just in case anyone ever needed to get in for some reason, you know, an emergency or to fix utilities or something. My grandmother moved to the country about a year and a half ago to retire, and passed the key on to me when I moved into the place. I knew no one had been there for close to 10 years. But I didn't think much of it until Robin, my friend -"

"His name is Robin? Like the bird? Or Hood?" Regina interjected.

She nodded. "Yes. Like that. He's really the nicest guy you'll meet, I've known him for ages, we have the same friends. He's someone who has his heart in the right place, and he needed a favor, and I owed him a favor, and it made sense for him to stay a while around here. So I told him about the apartment, and he crashed there."

Regina pursed her lips. It seemed innocent enough.

"I see. Even though it wasn't yours to give," she said somewhat testily. "Well, will he stay away from my son and I for now on?'

"Of course. He already called me yesterday, apologizing. Although, just to say, he installed a new fridge, stove and water heater at some point, because none of them worked when he first started using the place. And he told me he'd pay you rent-"

"He doesn't owe any rent," said Regina, thinking she'd rather just have the situation behind her. "I just want to move in and move on."

"Of course. You need a hand with anything?"

"We'll manage."

"Let me help. I at least owe you that."

..•..

One week, three trips to Ikea and one Saturday morning jaunt to Emma's favorite flea market later (Emma tagged along with them, which somewhat irritated Regina but in the end she was grateful for her company, her extra set of hands and fluent French when it came time for them to negotiate prices and hire a driver to take them back to the flat with all of her purchases), Regina and Henry were comfortably settled into their Montmartre apartment. Henry was nestled into the tiny study off of the main living/dining/kitchen area, divided from the rest of the house with charming French doors and a little window with a view over the rooftops - _it was like something out of a story book_, he had said, which made her smile - and Regina was moved into her bedroom on the other side of the main room, which was small and cozy, just enough space for a double bed (with a cute wrought iron headboard - one of her purchases with Emma at the flea market), a wardrobe with flowers painted on it (another antiques market purchase), a freshly-vacuumed Persian rug that had come with the apartment, and a window seat with built-in bookshelves on either side of the window. It was cozy, and best of all, it had a little terrace that she could just step onto and sit on a tiny table and chairs that she'd found in a closet. The finishing touch was a vase of freshly cut peonies from a florist on a corner, and pots of flowers on the terrace.

She had also managed to get Henry signed up for school. Although it was the beginning of summer and he'd just finished his school year back in the U.S., Regina wanted to get him adjusted to the language and whatever cultural differences might come their way in the next year or so, and found a school for him that accepted him into their summer program that was, miraculously, within walking distance. It would be a bit of a hike every morning and afternoon, but Regina could hardly mind when they had the charming neighbourhood of Montmartre to wander through each day: tall houses on either side of the narrow, impeccable streets, some in sugary pastel colors, others built in the white stone that Paris was so famous for. There were flower shops, cafes and bookstores all along the way: plenty of places for Regina to get inspiration for her work.

She had worked for a fashion magazine back in New York, and while she had to resign from her former position as one of the editors of the print edition, her employer generously let her take over some online editorial responsibilities and even asked her to write a column and several fashion features for their website about life in Paris. This allowed her to work from home - even though home was thousands of miles from New York, where the magazine was headquartered - with the exception of the few meetings and industry events she might have to attend in Paris from time to time.

Now that she and Henry were settled into their apartment, Regina was already planning trips to the various parts of the city - including the famous fashion boutiques and department stores: the she wanted to explore when Henry was at school, to get inspiration for her column.

By their second week in the apartment, all was well. Henry had had a good first day at the school he was going to, and Regina was starting to feel more comfortable with her new daily routine. She began plotting her outings to various parts of the city in the upcoming weeks. She wanted to go to the illustrious Faubourg Saint-Honoré, Boulevard Haussman's famous department stores, Avenue George V, and spend an afternoon in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

One day, when she returned home after having coffee and a little croissant as a mid-morning snack in a nearby café, she realized her refrigerator wasn't running. The smell of overly-ripe cheese and milk was a strong indication that something inside the small appliance was off, and when she checked the temperature, sure enough, it was several degrees warmer than it should be.

The fridge was one of the appliances that Robin had purchased (recently, apparently, as one of its stickers advertising its energy savings benefits was still attached). As soon as she checked everything she could think of (which was mainly whether it was still plugged in or not… it was,) and spent 10 minutes or so searching online for a suggestion, she gave up and texted Emma to ask her if she knew a repair man nearby who could take a look.

_I should ask Robin. I think he bought that a month or two ago, it'll still be under warranty._

_Don't, I'll figure it out_, replied Regina.

A few moments passed. Then, another ping signalled an incoming message.

_Too late. Says he'll be glad to help. On his way over. But, hey, I'll come by for your moral support and make sure the guy actually leaves, no worries._

..•..

The first thing Regina had set up in the apartment, besides the cozy room she'd put together for Henry in the study, was her desk. She liked to have everything in order for the work she would start doing that week: her laptop, second monitor, leather-bound notebooks where she jotted down notes and ideas for her articles, columns, and future pitches for her editor back in New York. An old mug that she used for pencils and pens, and of course, her metallic gold vase filled with a fresh bunch of flowers she'd bought on a postcard-perfect street corner.

If everything in her apartment, and especially on her desk, was clear and tidy, her mind felt clearer and tidier and her work flowed more smoothly.

Regina had just gotten to that point where everything in the apartment - even after only a few days in Paris - in her apartment looked settled and lived-in, clean, bright, wonderful-smelling thanks to the designer candle she burned during the hours she was home. The rugs had been swept, the art and black and white photographs she'd brought from New York hung tidily on the white walls, framed beautifully by the ornate Parisian wood paneling.

And then there was a knock on the door.

Emma was standing with Robin, her hands shoved in the pockets of her dark skinny jeans, an elegant but edgy grey motorcycle jacket on and a rather large bag slung over her shoulder.

Robin was slightly sloppily dressed… well, for a European. He still looked tidy compared to the men Regina had known back in the States. And he couldn't be a further cry from the men in her family back in Maine, with their flannel shirts, jeans, and quilted jackets. He had somewhat baggy olive green pants on, an oatmeal thermal long sleeved shirt and a thin grey scarf tossed around his neck.

"Hello again. Robin Du Bois, refrigerator repairman, at your service," Robin said, raising his eyebrows expectantly at her from the hall and holding out his hand as a proper greeting.

She shook it.

"May I enter, and see if I can help?"

His voice. Despite the fact that she disliked him, it was smooth and kind, and conveyed a strength and certain degree of genuineness.

Regina stood up straight and as tall as she could, though she was still several inches shorter than both Robin and Emma and pursed her lips.

"Come in."

Robin threw a nervous glance at Emma, but didn't say anything, and went into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Emma meandered in. "Wow. This place looks amazing. I've lived in my apartment for three years and it doesn't look half this lived-in. Or smell half this good."

"Thank you, dear. Please, sit down."

While Emma made herself comfortable on one of the Regina's antique chairs near the windows, Regina went to the kitchen to oversee Robin's handiwork. He'd moved the fridge out from the tiled wall to check it was plugged in, and then opened the door. His arm and head were in the fridge for a minute, fiddling with something in the back.

"Well that was an easy fix," he said, emerging a few moments later. "Your temperature setting had been knocked down too low. I never really kept food in here, so I suppose I might have never had it running at the proper temperature. That, and the temperature outside has been warming up. I raised it. It should work fine."

"Oh," Regina said, somewhat flustered. "I should have thought of that."

He shrugged. "Not a problem."

He turned to the sink and tested the water.

"Ah. The water pressure is good…" he opened the small cabinet under the sink and glanced inside. "There'd been some problems with the pipes, but I'd fixed them a few weeks back."

Regina gritted her teeth. "Thank you. I suppose."

"Everything else in this place in good shape? Robin is good with his hands, if you need anything else fixed…" Emma said from the living room.

Regina brushed her hair behind her ear. "Ah, no. No, Emma, thank you."

"Well, now that all's well, what about a little housewarming gift?" Emma suddenly pulled a bottle of wine out of her purse.

"Isn't it a bit early?" Regina asked.

Emma shrugged. "It's three, we're all here, everything's fixed, I think it's time we properly welcomed you to Paris."

Regina sighed, and shook her head. "If you insist," she said, trying to be polite, but throwing a glance over at her computer and her desk. She really did need to get started on some articles for the week, and she was way behind on her emails. Calculating the time in New York, she realized it was only around 9 am. The day was just beginning, what if she needed to make a call to her boss or colleagues…

"Come on, one glass," Emma prodded, already hunting around her kitchen for wine glasses.

Fortunately, Regina had bought some that past weekend, and pulled them off the open shelf over the sink.

"Corkscrew?" she called from the kitchen.

"In the drawer," Regina replied.

Meanwhile, Robin had settled down at the small antique cherry table Regina had just purchased at an antiques market the day before.

"So. Mr. Du Bois. Have you found another place to stay, or have you made yourself comfortable in another unsuspecting homeowner's residence?" Regina asked, joining him at the table.

He gritted his teeth for a moment, then smiled. "You will be pleased to know that I have rented a room in an apartment, temporarily, nearby. Legally."

"He has. I had a friend who needed someone to sublet her place for a few weeks while she does a program in London," Emma vouched.

"Oh. Well, congratulations, Mr. Du Bois, we should toast to you, too, and to your more moral choices."

"Please, darling, it's 'Robin.'"

Regina gritted her teeth and nodded once. "Well then, congratulations, Robin."

Right on cue, Emma brought out their wine glasses and passed them around. "To new homes," she said diplomatically, as they toasted.

They sipped the wine - red, dark, a hint of oak, a hint of fruit, and something deeper, richer. It was delicious.

"You have good taste in wine," Regina commented.

"I'm glad you like it. Honestly, for being French, I should probably have better grasp of these things, but I tend to just drink whatever Jean-Pierre at the little shop down the street pushes on me each week," laughed Emma.

They all grinned at that, and sipped again.

"So what do you do for work that would allow you to come over in the middle of a weekday and repair refrigerators, Robin?" asked Regina.

"I'm a software engineer for a large company. I work odd hours… sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes during the day, depending on what they need me to do and when. I happen to be free today."

"Oh. How nice for you to have that flexibility," said Regina.

"I hope we're not keeping you from some work," Robin said, looking at Regina's desk where a word processor was clearly open on her computer, along with her email and a few scattered notebooks. On screen, a window was blinking, indicating that someone had messaged her.

"Oh. Well, you are to be honest, but it's all right. It's the beginning of the day in New York - I suppose I'll catch up later, perhaps when Henry settles down with his books or his video games this evening before their day is over."

"You're still working for someone back in New York? What is it you do?" asked Emma.

"I am an editor for a fashion magazine."

"Whoa, you came to the right city for that," said Emma.

Regina nodded. "That's probably why my editor let me keep my job, fortunately."

"So you write about clothes, and shoes, and things?" Robin said, clearly not overly enthusiastic about the topic, but attempting to be polite.

"And 'things,' yes."

"That must be a difficult job to land," said Emma.

"Well, I did have a lot of different internships and freelance work for many years in New York before finally landing a staff position. Having a master's degree and a few connections from my university days didn't hurt, either."

Robin's attention seemed to pique at that. "You have a master's degree to write about fashion?"

He didn't say it in an overly surprised tone, but Regina still answered defensively.

"I do. Like writing about _any_ business, it takes a certain amount of knowledge and skill set to do a satisfactory job." She took another sip of her wine.

He raised his eyebrows.

"And what is it that you do, exactly, as a software engineer?" Regina asked him.

"I work as a cyber and network security engineer. Basically, to prevent critical data from being stolen or left vulnerable."

"So you prevent people from breaking into virtual spaces. How ironic, since you are a clearly a master of breaking into physical spaces in your free time."

Robin didn't say anything to that, merely taking another sip of the wine. He glanced over at Emma, and smiled at her. "You know, this is good wine - thank you, Emma - but I must admit I'm far more fond of whiskey. I'm half Irish, perhaps that's why. Next time, I'll bring that. It would be a little more up to the task of helping me weather some of Regina's remarks."

"Really? I haven't even said half of what I could say on this matter," said Regina defensively. "How sad you need whiskey to help you along when I am merely speaking the truth."

"Okay, okay," Emma said, standing up. "I think we need some food to go with this wine. I'm going to run downstairs and pick something up - if I can leave you two alone for two seconds and expect you two to both be here when I get back?"

"I'll go," Robin volunteered, touching her arm to tell her to sit back down. "I'll get something for you two to have - then I'll be on my way."

"No," Emma protested, but Robin insisted.

"Clearly, I'll never be able to atone for my choice of apartments to crash in," he said, his eyes meeting Regina's. "The least I can do is get you two a late lunch, and then I'll leave you both alone."

"Hot blooded Irishman, that one," Emma said, rolling her eyes as soon as he stepped out of the door, and taking a sip of her wine.

Regina pursed her lips. "I see."

The conversation became easy, and pleasant when it was just the two of them. Emma told her about how she's in her last year of law school at the moment - she'd taken a few years off to travel through the United States and Asia, which explained her solid command of English - and was glad to finally be graduating after years of wandering. As promised, Robin returned in less than a half hour, and simply delivered a brown paper bag to Emma at the door containing a fresh baguette, two kinds of cheeses, some thin slices of meat, grapes and oranges, and two delicious individual bowls of cold gazpacho, then left with a goodbye to Emma.

"This confirms that I did the right thing by moving here," Regina concluded as they finished nibbling their way through the mid-afternoon meal. Before long, it was time to pick up Henry from school, and Emma said she had to get back to studying. Regina promised to have her over for dinner sometime soon.

..•..

Regina eventually did settle into a new work routine, and found it was much simpler, especially once she made sure to not drink any wine until the workday in New York was over. This meant she often worked well into the night, while Henry was doing homework, reading, or once he'd gone to bed.

She always started her day with a walk through the beautiful neighbourhood of Montmartre, sometimes a challenge with the steep hills and endless steps. On the days when she was more ambitious, she would walk along the winding streets all the way to Sacre-Coeur, which stood atop a grand hill overlooking the endless cityscape of Paris. Other days, especially on rainy spring days, she stayed closer to home, sometimes taking her laptop with her to a cafe and indulging in a rich, creamy cup of cafe au lait as she dug into her writing.

On one such day the next week, she returned home after working at a cafe to a very unwelcome sight: Robin, outside of her building, buzzing up to Emma's apartment. A small bag was in his hand.

"Hello," Regina said cautiously as she approached the building.

"Hi," he said, turning around, surprised.

"You do seem to like this building, don't you?"

"I was here to deliver something to Emma."

"Oh. Isn't she home?"

"It appears not," she said, looking at the button one last time and checking his phone.

"I can give her the - whatever it is - if you'd like me to," Regina said, eyeing the bag.

"Ah… that's the thing. It's kind of funny. This is actually a gift I was going to leave for you."

"For me?"

He nodded sheepishly. "I didn't mean to see you again - you know, I don't want to bother you - but I picked up this."

He lifted a large, brand-new bottle of Irish whiskey from the bag, then set it back.

"And these."

He showed her what appeared to be lowball glasses wrapped in paper. Then, he put them back in the bag and reached in one more time.

"…And this."

It was a plain white envelope. This he handed to Regina, and she took it. She glanced inside. Several hundred Euro bills were placed in the envelope.

"For the rent."

"Robin, I-"

"I'm a man of honor. I truly did not mean to inconvenience you. And you could have - and perhaps should have - completely called the police on me, and you did not."

"I wasn't going to. You're a friend of Emma's. It seemed like an honest enough… mistake. And you did replace some appliances in there, so, we can call it even." She handed the envelope back.

"No. Please, keep it. Buy something for the apartment, or your boy… Paris is an expensive city to raise a child in."

"I can't."

"I'm not taking it back."

"It's too much."

"I'm not going to argue with you-" He paused as someone walked past them and opened the door to the building, and they both smiled at the person nervously.

Regina bit her bottom lip. "Fine. But I don't need all of that whiskey, that's for sure."

"You do. You seem… stressed."

Regina raised her eyebrows. "Stressed?"

"Ah, from the move?" He asked, biting his bottom lip and looking at her expectantly, laughter in his eyes.

Despite herself, she laughed. "I suppose I was a bit sharp the other day. You're right - some days - I am not sure what to make of all of this. You know, new city. New people. New home. Same job, but new kinds of stress…"

He laughed, then held out the brown bag to her.

"Here. Enjoy. My treat. And I _do_ promise I will stay out of your way from now on," he said, his deep blue eyes meeting hers, and she knew he meant it.

She took the bag. 'Thank you."

He smiled one last kind smile, nodded at her, and walked down the sidewalk, pushing his hands into his pockets.

Regina's hand wrapped around the cool skeleton keys that she'd just pulled out of her purse. Before she could think it through logically, she turned towards him, watching him walk away.

"Robin?" She called out.

He stopped on the sidewalk and turned.

She held up the bag. "I'm not one for drinking alone - or day drinking, actually - but I'm up for a small glass. Would you mind joining me for one?"


	3. Chapter 3

__Hello! Thank you so much if you've left me feedback and followed/favorited. I was pleasantly surprised by the response to my first two chapters, and it motivated me to continue writing! I have outlined the entire story, and I do hope you will enjoy where it goes for Regina and Robin.  
><em>_

__My goal is to update at least once a week.____  
><em>_

__As I mentioned in my note in chapter one, I don't claim any ownership over the characters. All events and characters in this story are modified quite a bit from their original OUAT inspirations to fit into this modern-day AU, though I think you'll find a few familiar things along the way. __

__Happy reading. __

__- Ana aka. FadedSeptember__

* * *

><p><em>That night, she dreamed of Daniel.<em>

It was about that time they had been at his parent's home in Connecticut, their sprawling Victorian-era estate that his mother had spent two decades meticulously restoring, from the parlour that looked like something out of an Austen novel, to her perfectly-manicured gardens with topiaries and primly pruned hydrangeas.

Daniel's parents had been away that weekend, the weekend between Christmas and New Year's, the year Henry had been born. Daniel had invited a few of his old prep school friends over. They'd all had a little too much scotch that one of his rowdier friends from the old days had brought as a gift. Neither Daniel nor Regina had been drunk per se, but they _had_ been blissfully tipsy. They finally retired to a room in the wee hours of the night, feeling deliriously happy. They'd kissed for a while, laughing and talking and then _not_ laughing and talking, but then the kisses deepened, and the talking stopped, and soon they were making love on the settee, then on the bed, and Regina felt like she was liquid, riding wave after wave of pure bliss in the smooth, expensive Egyptian cotton sheets and the soft down feather bed and comforters while the snow fell outside, blanketing the tall, quiet spruces and boxwood hedges that surrounded the property.

She remembers waking the next morning and feeling truly safe, and content, and happy, like it would be that way forever… just the two of them, and Henry, baby Henry at the time, tucked soundly asleep in the room next to theirs.

Regina awoke suddenly and it took her a moment to sort out where she was.

Her new apartment. Paris. _France_. Henry, in the other room, asleep. He was 10 years old now.

It was still dark, though outside her window she could hear early morning birds singing a spring song. She glanced at her phone. It was 4:34 in the morning.

She rolled over and her mouth felt dry. As soon as she could muster the strength, she pulled herself out of bed, her bare feet hitting the soft wool rug beneath her. Then, as quietly as she could - the old wood floors in the apartment seemed impossibly loud and creaky at night - she padded into the kitchen.

When she saw the two new glasses, cleaned and innocently sitting on the shelf above the sink, the events of the previous afternoon flooded back to her. She poured herself a glass of water from her pitcher and took a sip then closed her eyes and allowed the events of the previous day to wash over her mind, hoping to erase the still-painful recollection from the dream.

..•..

Robin had followed her upstairs after she'd invited him in. The mood had dramatically shifted since a few days prior, when all she could do was snap at him.

She'd set down the bottle of whiskey on the table and unwrapped the two tumblers, pretty crystal things that actually matched her taste.

"These are Irish as well," he'd explained to her.

"You must not have grown up in Ireland, though?" she'd asked as she moved into the kitchen to rinse the whisky glasses. She felt her eyes on her as she walked, and deep down couldn't help but being pleased that she was wearing a tight black pencil skirt and the ridiculously expensive, almost-too-high heels that she knew made herself look especially good from the back side.

"Your accent sounds a little more English to me," she specified.

"Good catch. You're right, I didn't grow up in Ireland. My mother was Irish, but my father, he comes from an old family in Southwest England. I grew up there. Then, went to private school for a bit, so they tried to clear up the way I speak. I also lived in Canada for a while, for work, so that kind of… smoothed things out, I suppose."

"I see." She moved back to the table and studied the whisky label. "I'm interested in trying this. Normally, hard alcohol isn't really my thing, but whiskey is one that I can tolerate."

"Well, you can take some ice with it if you must - and if you have any. But I like mine neat," he explained, unscrewing the bottle.

"Fix mine neat then, too," she said, the tone of her voice suggesting that she was up for a challenge.

He poured some in the bottom of the glasses, and they clinked their glasses softly, their eyes meeting just before taking a small sip. A warm feeling bloomed in Regina's chest as soon as she took the first sip, feathering out slowly through her body to the tips of her fingers and toes.

She wasn't sure that feeling was solely from the whiskey.

They sat at the table for a while as they sipped the golden liquid, chatting a bit about where they'd grown up, the schools they'd gone to, how they'd learned French (both in school, then, to Regina's surprise, both motivated to deepen their French knowledge when they'd fallen in love with someone in France).

She'd given him a short tour of the apartment after that, showing him a few pictures she'd taken that were in the frames that she'd already hung on the wall, mostly of ordinary places in her old neighbourhood in New York, and a picture of her parents' farm back in Maine.

"You have a lovely eye for photography," he commended. "You could have easily done that as a career."

"Thank you. I did freelance for a while when I was still a student, and soon after Henry was born."

When she pointed out the study, which she'd converted to Henry's bedroom, Robin told her that he had a son.

"Oh?" This surprised Regina. She hadn't seen - or heard - anything about a son before, neither from him nor Emma.

"He's five. Great kid. His mum raised him - we never married - then I was out of his life for just a short while. Not by choice. As soon as I could see him again, I made sure that my job kept me as close as possible to Paris, where he and his mother have always lived."

"So that's why you're here."

He nodded. "It's convenient my company has an office here, and I have to travel so much for work it's not really a concern where I'm based anyways. Though I do some volunteer work back in London, so I get back there from time to time. But generally, I've been trying to settle down here."

"Do you have any other family or… friends… here?" Regina almost said _significant others_, but she stopped herself.

"No. Other than my son, and his mother - I suppose you could say we are friends, though we don't have much in common any more other than our son - and Emma, whom I met a while back when she was working in London at that organization I volunteer for."

They returned to the table in the center of the apartment and set their glasses down. Robin glanced at them, then up at her. "Another nip?"

She acquiesced. "Well, I have sent in all of my assignments for the day. I suppose I can manage a tiny splash more. But you _really_ should know I don't make a habit of this."

He nodded, then pushed up his sleeves and they returned to the table. He added a bit more of the amber liquid to her glass before he topped up his own. As he poured, the tattoo that Regina had noticed on his forearm the first morning she'd met him was visible. It was dark and detailed, and looked a bit like a lion.

She had been debating asking him about it when she noticed the time. It was a few minutes past 4, the time she usually left to pick up Henry from school.

She apologized, but as soon as she told him why she needed to go, Robin jumped into action, cleaning the glasses and putting away the liquor while she got her purse. He walked with her outside and down the sidewalk for a few blocks towards the school. Before Regina knew it, they'd nearly reached the school. They stopped at a corner a half a block away.

"Thank you. Again." Regina said. "For everything."

She hadn't managed to convince him to take back the money, though she'd tried to insist several times during their conversation earlier.

"Including the whiskey, which was delicious. Thank you for being Irish, so we could sample it."

He smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

With that, he leaned forward, and for a brief, wild moment, Regina thought he was leaning in for a kiss. Before she could consider whether or not that was a good thing, he gave her a delicate, light peck on the cheek, as was custom in Europe, pulled back, and nodded his head.

"Hope you and your son have a good evening. And I hope to see you soon again. You know. Perhaps at Emma's."

"At Emma's," Regina repeated, smiling. Then, tidying her skirt and hair, she walked towards Henry's school.

..•..

In the wee hours of the morning, her mind was awash with memories of the previous afternoon and the memories evoked by the dream, swirling and combining in a disorienting haze, both comforting and scaring her. Regina simply stood in the kitchen and looked out of the window, staring across the dark rooftops of the city. Gripping the edge of the wood countertop, she wasn't sure whether she felt like crying or smiling at the memories that the dream had evoked.

Eight years after his death, her memories with Daniel still felt fresh, raw. Real. Would they ever fade? Would they ever go away? Did she even _want_ them to fade or go away?

"Daniel," she whispered in the darkness of her kitchen.

The sky, she noted, outside of the square window in her kitchen, was starting to turn the rich royal blue color that came right before the break of dawn.

She looked at the two glasses sitting on the shelf, and she imagined Daniel with her, standing behind her in that kitchen - the kitchen that might have been _their_ kitchen - and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him.

..•..

For the rest of the week, she resolved to forget about Robin, as he was a distraction that she most definitely did not need right now. Or perhaps ever.

But, funnily enough, many things started to remind her of him. During her long work days, she felt lonely, separated from her colleagues by a computer, and wondered if Robin worked on his own, too, in front of a computer. She haphazardly Googled him, but found only a LinkedIn page that didn't look terribly up-to-date.

In the evenings, as she listened to Henry practice his French or read aloud to him, she couldn't help but wonder what Robin was like as a father. What was his son like? Did he read to him?

Robin had wedged into a place in her mind, and she couldn't let the thought of him go.

It had been years since she'd felt like that about anyone. And here he was, getting under her skin. Of all people, the thief who had "stolen" her apartment and had surprised her half to death on that first Saturday morning in Paris.

It was ridiculous.

Who breaks into an apartment to live, anyways? And worse, who _likes_ the person who breaks into said apartment?

She debated sending him a message, something, asking to see him again. To talk to him. Perhaps if she saw him again, she would realize that she didn't actually like him _that_ much. Then she could move on, and not feel like she was missing out on anything.

But she decided against it.

..•..

"You've been living in Paris for nearly a month and have barely even seen the city. You really need to get out," said Emma as she and Regina climbed the flights of stairs in their building.

"I've been busy moving in, and getting my son settled, and working, you know," Regina grumbled, trailing behind her on the stairs as she carried two heavy bags filled with a few days' worth of groceries.

"Seriously? That's no excuse. I need to get you out of the house," said Emma, carrying one of her bags of groceries for her.

Regina grunted softly as she set her bags down outside of her door and fished for the keys.

"That's nice of you… but I really can't."

"Come on. I'll show you around the city, there are some places that Henry really needs to see. I should study for an exam this weekend, but I'll need a few hours of fresh air. How about Saturday morning?"

"It's really not necessary." Regina sighed, feeling herself lose this battle. "…But okay."

She kind of _did_ want to get out. Her life here so far had become shockingly… well, routine. Some days, she nearly forgot what city she was in: a city that people travelled from all over the world to see once in their lives. And here she was, living and working here, and utterly taking it for granted.

"See you at two, then? Oh, and you need to leave the heels at home, Coco Chanel. And the skirts. Dress to walk… a lot, okay?" said Emma.

"Yeah, sure."

Emma nodded her approval and whirled away, back downstairs to her apartment.

"Emma?" Regina called before she disappeared down the stairwell.

"Yeah?" She turned.

"Looking forward to it."

..•..

On Saturday the weather was threatening rain, but the three of them set out of their apartment in Montmartre, umbrellas in hand, guided by Emma.

"You liking Paris so far, Henry?" asked Emma.

He nodded nonchalantly. "It's fine."

"Et apprends-toi le français, Henry?" Emma asked him, testing his French.

"Oui. Je le connais très bien."

She laughed. "Okay, not bad."

They rode the metro to the Champs-Elysees. As they walked past a Disney store filled with tourists, Regina commented that the area wasn't as upscale as she'd remembered from her first visit to the city.

"Yeah, it's not, like, the best area that the city offers. But it's a must-see, obviously. Next we're going to go to the Eiffel Tower, then the Garden of Tuileries. So we'll see some of the big downtown Paris spots in one afternoon.

They walked and rode the metro, seeing every place that Emma was anxious for them to explore, though decided to actually go up the Eiffel Tower another time once they saw the massive lines. Finally, they found themselves at the Garden of Tuileries, and Regina could see why Emma chose it for their final sightseeing spot.

"Hey, a horse!" Henry's face brightened as he looked over at a few white ponies standing off to the side.

"You want to ride one?' Regina asked her son.

He nodded.

Emma laughed. "I thought he might like that."

The pony came with a guide, who led the three of them around - Henry on the pony and Emma and Regina trailing behind on foot - and told stories of the gardens.

"It was created in 1564 by Catherine de Medici, and opened to the public after the French Revolution. For 200 years, it's where the elite visited every day to show off," the well-rehearsed guide said in his thickly-accented English.

Henry was more focused on the experience of riding a horse than the history, but Emma and Regina followed along, listening to the guide and chatting amongst themselves from time to time, admiring the tidily manicured historical gardens amidst the busy city setting.

"So, Robin texted me the other day." Emma said after they'd walked for a bit.

"Oh?"

"Look, the guy doesn't kiss and tell, but he mentioned he saw you again."

"Did he? Well, there's no kiss involved, so I doubt he had much more than that to tell you," said Regina.

"He said he'd come by to give something to me, and you two had ended up downing a bit of whisky in the afternoon."

"Well, it seems he _does_ tell you quite a lot, then."

Emma laughed. "Not really. We're just old friends. We go back a ways, back to when we worked together in London. We have a similar group of friends, is all."

"That's all?"

"Of course. I mean, I haven't seen or heard from him this much in ages, especially not him on his own; we usually only see each other when we're hanging out with a group of people, when some old friends are in town or something. If you ask me, he's been really interested in texting me because of his interest in _you_."

"Oh."

"Hey mom, look at that!" Henry pointed out about a dozen or so toy boats floating on a large fountain.

"Very nice, my dear," Regina replied, wishing she'd had though to bring her camera with her.

Emma dropped the topic of Robin. She seemed to want to continue, but Regina's pursed lips must have suggested her lack of interest in discussing the matter further.

After the pony ride and walk around the massive park, they made their way to the nearby Louvre. Regina had visited it many times in the past, so they decided not to battle the Saturday crowds, but instead wandered around outside, while Henry enjoyed looking at the massive pyramid structure that was surrounded by the old, palatial museum.

"Like the DaVinci Code," he said, running around the massive glass pyramid, and Regina nodded.

"Yes, you did see it in the movie," Regina pointed out.

"Come on, Henry, we've got one more stop," Emma said after they had spent enough time meandering through the endless clusters of tourists that congregate outside of the museum. "I've saved the best for last. You like ice cream?"

He nodded.

"Okay, well, the best ice cream in the world is in this city."

They walked along the Seine for a bit, and as the afternoon turned to evening, Regina admired the incredible light of the city, how it seemed to shift and paint the city in different shades of beauty. No wonder so many artists had found the city inspiring. She was finding everything about the city alluring. It was good to get out: her mind now felt more rested and refreshed, and the upcoming week would surely be especially productive for her work.

She loved the way the women and men wore the clothes on the streets: she'd always been fascinated by the way the French never seemed to be trying too hard, and at the same time put so much thought into what they wore. She was getting plenty of ideas for her writing as they wandered through the streets that afternoon.

As her mind was focused on fashion and writing, she listened to Emma and Henry chat about, of all things, video games. It was an odd conflation of familiarity (she'd tried to carry many a conversation about video games with Henry in the past, to varying degrees of success) with the unfamiliarity of the surreal beauty of the city that was laid out before her eyes.

The famous ice cream place, Berthillon, was their destination. When they got there, it was busy, but they waited and their patience was indeed rewarded with some of the best ice cream any of them had ever had. Henry would have probably been satisfied with any kind of ice cream, but Emma and Regina, who both chose the salted caramel, savoured each exquisite bite.

"Thanks for the ice cream, Regina," Emma said.

"Please, the least I could do was buy you this after you played tour guide for a day. I really appreciate it."

She grinned. "You're welcome. It's sometimes healthy to be forced to get out, you know."

"Are you gonna have dinner with us, Emma?" Henry asked as he slurped his ice cream.

"Ah, no, I don't think I can," she glanced at Regina. "I - ah - have to study."

"Emma's been very generous with her time, but we have to let her do some other things this weekend," said Regina, grinning at Emma, knowing that the 20-something had indeed been very nice to show them around on a Saturday, but Regina would never impose on her Saturday night.

For a flit of a second, Regina was slightly jealous of Emma's freedom, and felt nostalgic for a time when she would have done something amazing with a Saturday night in Paris.

"We'll all ride the metro back home together, okay?" she said to Henry.

Henry shrugged. "All right."

..•..

Their Saturday outing did not have the effect that Regina had hoped for the following workweek.

Although work had gone relatively smoothly for Regina for a few weeks, she knew it was only a matter of time before problems would arise after the unusually quiet honeymoon period that she'd enjoyed following the move. They finally manifested themselves that week.

It started with one of her web content writers not submitting some assignments on time, continued with a photographer not submitting the right photographs for something else she needed, and then was topped off with a massive headache and writer's block for her own column that was due shortly. She'd meant to go out on the streets of Paris and snap some photographs to use with her column, but all of the problems from her editorial work took up her time and she found it impossible to unhitch herself from the computer to go out and seek inspiration.

She sent several sharply-worded emails to her staff, attempting to maintain a facade of politeness but actually writing things she knew she may eventually regret.

So when a text appeared on her phone from Robin, she was in no mood to deal with it.

_I'm going out this afternoon to shop for books. There's a bookstore you might enjoy if you want to join me, _he wrote.

_Too busy,_ she replied brusquely.

He didn't send anything else.

To make matters worse, Henry had chosen that week to have a bad attitude. He seemed unmotivated at night to do his homework, and he even began complaining about school and going on about missing his friends back in New York.

"I'm tired of learning French," he whined on Thursday, slamming down his pencil on the kitchen table where he had been working for an hour. "I want to play my Gameboy."

"No. Finish your last page," Regina said sternly.

Henry scowled, and sloppily rushed through the rest of the assignment.

"No Gameboy," Regina said when he finished. "You can read or go to sleep. But no more video games or television tonight."

He stormed into his room and shut the door. Regina didn't bother him again.

Henry had always enjoyed school, so Regina wondered what was going on. By Friday she decided to take a softer approach than she had on Thursday night. After she'd managed to sort out most of her work woes - all the ones that she could physically handle that week, anyways - she picked him up from school and took him out to a park, and then they went to an American-style restaurant for dinner. It seemed absurd to seek out "American" food in France, but the two of them enjoyed their burgers and fries immensely, finding such a meal to be a comforting, familiar taste of home.

When they returned to the apartment, Regina rented a movie online and let Henry watch it until he fell asleep, hoping that she'd manage to provide him some façade of familiarity. The truth was, she was feeling guilty. What right did she have to uproot him from his home and take him there? She decided to allow him to be a kid for a few hours and forget that he was facing the daunting task of trying to acclimate to another country.

..•..

On Saturday morning following her hellish week, Regina was sipping her coffee as Henry quietly ate some cereal at the table, still acting distant and out-of-sorts.

She wondered what Robin did with his son in this city on weekends. It was a beautiful city, but didn't seem like the best place for kids. Walking around with Emma last weekend had been interesting for them both, but she wasn't sure she could just take Henry out on cultural outings all of the time. She wondered if Henry might like to go out and shop for some books and comics. He'd always enjoyed browsing through bookstores with her back in New York on weekends. As she combed her favorite stores back in New York for fashion and design books to add to her collection, he would sift through the childrens' chapter books and comics, and she'd often find him curled up on one of the bookstore's cushy chairs reading away. Like New York, Paris had to have good bookstores. Perhaps she'd even get him interested in a French book that he could read to practice the language.

She thought about Robin's text earlier in the week… he'd mentioned books, hadn't he?

Her stomach sank as she recalled that she'd replied to him so curtly. Suddenly regretting that she'd brushed him off so quickly, she took a deep breath and composed a text message.

She then spent 30 minutes putting off actually hitting "send," because she was worried that perhaps she'd been a little too rude to the man a few too many times and that her text would (rightfully) go ignored. That would be understandable, but quite disappointing nonetheless.

Was it worth even trying?

_She wasn't that nice of a person, really_, she supposed. She was a woman who only thought about her son, herself, and work. _Why would he like her… what was all that interesting about her, especially if he didn't like fashion? Or her son? Or maybe he didn't mind Henry.. he had a son of his own, after all. But her work was certainly nothing that he seemed to relate to. Why would he ever give her another chance after she'd been so rude?_

Finally, she realized there was no loss in trying to reach out to him one last time.

She re-composed the text for what must have been the dozenth time and finally hit send.

_Apologies for my reply earlier. Busy week. Henry and I want to go to a good bookstore. Do you have any recommendations?_

Within two minutes, she heard her phone ping. It was a reply.

_I'm with my son today. We're near a great children's bookstore. Could meet you 2 there._

Oh. He was with his son. She considered that for a moment, then replied.

_All right. Could you text me an address?_

A few metro stops later, Regina and Henry emerged and met Robin and his young son, waiting precisely at the corner that they'd agreed upon.


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm so grateful for all of the messages and the reviews, likes and favorites you've given this story in the past few days! I read each and every message and appreciate the thought that you put into the feedback, so thank you very much for that. It motivates me to keep going!_

_As always: this is a modern, AU Outlaw Queen fic. I don't claim any ownership over the characters._

_I hope you enjoy what is in store for Regina and Robin in this chapter. Happy reading! - Ana / FadedSeptember_

* * *

><p>Robin beamed as he saw Regina and Henry walking towards them down the sidewalk. Something about seeing his smile prompted Regina to quicken her pace.<p>

"Good morning. And who do we have here?" Robin looked at Henry and stuck out his hand.

"Henry," he said, offering Robin his hand and shaking it.

"So nice to finally meet you, Sir Henry. I'm Robin and this -" he scooped up his young, dimpled dark-haired son into his arms. "-is Roland."

"Hi," said Henry.

"It's nice to meet you," said Regina to the boy, who smiled at her before quickly turning shyly back towards his father.

"He'll get quite talkative in a few minutes," Robin assured Regina and Henry. "In the meantime, let me show you this bookstore, shall I? Roland and I enjoy coming here from time to time. He's found some great books."

"I didn't realize you would be into bookstores and reading," said Regina as they walked.

"Any reason why not?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I suppose I just figure that computer people-"

"Are boring old sods who type away at a screen and eat ramen all day?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She laughed. "Maybe."

"Well, I'm not. I quite like reading, and not just computer programming manuals: I like medieval history."

"Oh. Well, this is a good city for that, I suppose," said Regina.

He nodded, then turned to Henry, dropping behind Regina to match Henry's slower pace. "So Henry, do you like medieval knights and that sort of thing?"

Henry perked up. "I have Dark Hero 4, it's a video game about a knight."

"Ah, wonderful. Then you do know all about them."

Regina smiled to herself. She loved how this man seemed to have a natural way with the boys. For a moment, she felt a pang of guilt that she couldn't relate to her son in the way that Robin, or even Emma, could… she was the boring mom who worked all the time and wrote about clothes. No wonder he was fed up with her lately.

Robin and Roland led them into a beautiful old shop, with antique paned glass windows that featured a display of books and posters with fanciful drawings of dragons and kings and queens in castles. According to the sign, the shop was called "L'Oiseau Doré."

Inside it was warm and smelled delightfully of paper and ink. Aside from her designer perfumes and candles, the smell of books, old and new, was the scent she liked most in the world. It was a children's bookstore, which was apparent from the colourful drawings and posters decorating the shop, but the books were tastefully set up on wooden tables and small, overstuffed children-sized armchairs were sprinkled around the shop.

Roland squirmed to get out of the grasp of his father's arms, so Robin set him down and he took Henry's hand, eager to show him something at a table in the far corner. Regina observed Henry closely: he didn't exactly have much experience around boys Roland's age, but Henry good-naturedly played along and let Roland show him the book he was so excited about.

Regina turned to Robin. "I appreciate you taking the time to show us this store. I think Henry needed an outing, and I didn't know what to do with him for fun. This city is perfect for my work, but I think it's taking a toll on him."

"In what way?" they were both keeping a close eye on the boys, but that wasn't difficult in the cozy shop, and Robin's gaze left his son and focused on her for a moment.

"It's just so far from home, and what's familiar. He's adapted remarkably well, but with all of the adjustments to my new work schedule here… well, I'm afraid I haven't been giving him the attention I used to," she admitted.

"He's a lovely boy. I'm sure you're doing quite well."

"I don't know. What about Roland? Does he like living in this city"

Robin shrugged. "It's the only city he's ever really known. His mum takes him to the parks, she keeps him well-fed, well-entertained. We both give him attention. It's all he really needs at the moment."

"I suppose. Roland is a nice name, by the way. How did you ever come up with it?"

"Well, as I said, I enjoy medieval history. There's a legendary French hero, Roland, who was a nephew of Charlemagne. I suppose that name stood out to us. A good, solid, name from the middle ages."

"That sounds like quite a storied name for such a little boy," Regina mused.

"And Henry? Any significance to his name? Other than the fact that it has been the name of many English and French kings?"

"Not particularly. My father - a dairy farmer, _not_ a king - is named Henry."

Robin laughed. "Fair enough."

Both of the boys were now thoroughly engrossed in a few of the books that they'd found. Roland had already started gently flipping through a picture book, which he held up for his father to see. Henry had wandered away from the younger kid's picture books over to a table with graphic novels for young readers. Regina strode over to where he was.

"Maybe you can pick out one, Henry? I also see some books in French, one of those might be a good way for you to practice."

Henry shrugged without answering, continuing to flip through a book with an elaborately-illustrated cover.

Robin returned to them, Roland once again in his arms, flipping through a picture book that had a monkey on the cover.

"Hey Henry, I have to show you this one-" Robin picked up a book on the graphic novels table. "This was one of my favorites. I read it recently, about a knight who travels through time. I think you might like it."

Henry perked up. "Really?"

He started gently flipping through the book that Robin had pointed out.

"Are there any good ones in French?" Regina prompted, hoping Robin would take the hint.

"Yeah, of course there are. Look at this one, Henry. Really great story. It's about a kid who discovers he has this power to read some people's minds. And it's in French, but I think you can manage that, can't you?"

"Yeah. That sounds good, too," Henry said, taking a look at the book.

They didn't end up leaving L'Oiseau Doré for nearly an hour. Regina let Henry pick out two books, one in English and the other in French. Regina lingered and watched as Robin interacted with the boys, relieved that Henry had seemed to relax and enjoy himself on this outing. Roland, in the meantime, had tucked himself into a comfy reading chair and was flipping through two books about animals.

When they finally left, everyone was satisfied: Henry picked out two books, both which had come with glowing recommendations from Robin, and Regina bought Roland one of the picture books about animals (he chose the one with the monkey on the cover).

"Where to now, men?" Robin asked the boys as they exited the small shop, Regina trailing behind with the purchases in an elegant white paper shopping bag.

"And ladies," he said, smiling at her, and taking the bag.

"There's nothing that interesting to do in this city," Henry blurted out.

Regina cringed. "Henry-"

"What is that, Henry? I don't think you have the full story there, mate," replied Robin. "This city has been home to some of the best artists, scientists, politicians… people who made the world the way it is today! Even the Romans lived here a long time ago. Hey - didn't you say you liked kings, queens and knights in your video games?"

Henry nodded.

"Well, some of the most important kings and queens used to live in this city, and knights, too. They walked the very streets we are on right now. Do you like Harry Potter? Have you seen the movies?"

Henry nodded again.

"Well, I could show you a museum that has tons of things from medieval times, when kings and kings ruled this land. This museum has suits of armor, battle gear and lots of other relics from olden times. And the museum even has the tapestry that was hanging in the Gryffindor common room in the Harry Potter movies," said Robin.

"Really?'

Robin nodded, fostering excitement. "If your mum is interested, we can go there today. Roland and I have been there before, but we'd be glad to show you around, wouldn't we?"

Roland nodded, smiling a bright, dimply smile. "Yeah! I really like the knights in the museum."

"Okay," Henry agreed.

Robin glanced over at Regina, his eyebrows raised. "What do you think?"

She smiled warmly, and held up her hands in surrender. "It's up to you boys to decide today."

"Well, come on then!" Robin said, motioning for them all to walk back to the metro station.

..•..

Regina doubted the ability for a museum to keep Henry occupied - it was not, after all, a video game, comic book, or Harry Potter movie - but when they arrived at the Musée de Cluny, filled with artifacts from the middle ages including pictures and sculptures of knights and kings, Henry was captivated. They wandered through the old stone building's many rooms, gazing at displays of art and artifacts of knights and jousting and sword fighting, complemented by Robin's engaging narrative.

Regina trailed after them, listening as Robin talked about all of the medieval things on display, from middle age board games to the magnificent "Lady and the Unicorn" tapestries that Henry did, in fact, recognize from the Harry Potter movies.

Regina recognized them from her college art history textbooks, and dwelled as long as she possibly could in the room where they were magnificently displayed.

"Superlative," she sighed, as she stood in front of the largest of the series of tapestries. The rich colours of the ornately-woven work depicted a woman, the Lady, being presented with gifts while a unicorn and lion watched over her.

"À mon seul desir," she whispered under her breath, reading the writing depicted on the tapestry above the Lady.

"My only desire," translated Robin, who had quietly approached her from behind.

Regina didn't turn, continuing to gaze at the tapestry, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"If I remember correctly from my college art history class, this one depicts the Lady renouncing her worldly desires - taste, hearing, sight, smell, touch - that she had experienced in the other tapestries. In this final piece, she chooses her own free will above all other senses that hold her captive," recited Regina.

"But that is only one interpretation," countered Robin softly. "The story I've heard is that the Lady is in love in this one. She finally recognizes lust, or love, as a sense, and with it all the magnificent, heightened consciousness that comes with being in love. It is the most noble of all worldly experiences. According to this work."

Regina turned around to face him. "And what do you believe, Mr. Moonlights-as-a-Medieval-Historian?"

"Why can't both interpretations be correct?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Their eyes connected for a beat too long, and then neither one of them wanted to break the gaze.

"Papa?" Little Roland was tugging at Robin's knee to get his attention.

"Yes, my boy?" Robin scooped him up in his arms.

"I'm tired," he said, planting his face into Robin's neck.

"Ah, yes, it is getting rather late into the afternoon. I need to get you back home to your mother."

"Oh," Regina said, biting her lip and glancing around for Henry, who had gone to the next room over and was studying a photo of a battle. "I'm so sorry we took up your whole day."

"Not at all. This was a lovely afternoon. We were glad you decided to let us show you around."

"Would you like to come over later, after you take him home? I was going to make lasagna for dinner," she lied. "There will be plenty."

"All right. How could I resist?" he said.

Regina smiled broadly. "Good. Come by around seven, then?"

..•..

They parted ways, Robin carrying a sleepy Roland and Regina leading her relatively content son back to their neighbourhood, ducking into the small nearby grocer to pick up all of the necessary ingredients for the lasagna right before they got home. The truth was that she hadn't made lasagna in ages, though she'd watched her grandmother make it many times as a child and basically knew how to put it together. It had been the first thing that came to mind when she made that split-second decision to invite Robin for dinner.

She and Henry wove in and out of the small, crowded aisles as quickly as she could. Henry seemed tired, and she vowed to let him play a few hours of video games to wind down from their medieval adventure that afternoon while she pulled the lasagna together.

It wasn't exactly the kind of dinner you just throw together, but once she managed to get Henry settled back at the apartment, she got both the tomato and béchamel sauces going, sautéed the meat, onions, garlic and spices until they were fragrant, and had just finished boiling the pasta when the buzzer sounded to announce that Robin had arrived.

She quickly checked everything in the kitchen to make sure it would all be ok for the 30 seconds it took to let Robin in, and wiped her hands on her apron before buzzing him up. While she waited for him to climb the stairs, she did a quick last-minute check of herself in the mirror that was propped up over the fireplace.

"Good evening - whoa, it smells amazing in here," he said as he stepped inside.

"Thank you," Regina said, accepting the bottle of red wine that she held out to her and closing the door.

"Something a little milder than the whiskey to go with dinner while you're son's around," he said in a low voice, grinning mischievously.

"Of course…" she replied, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Please, come in. I hope you don't mind watching me put this together. It'll just be a few minutes and then we'll let it bake in the oven for a bit."

"I don't mind watching at all," he said, moving into the kitchen.

Regina felt his eyes on her. The way he said it was somewhat suggestive. He wasn't being too aggressive, but the weight of his words were there. She _knew_ what he was saying, but he was leaving it open ended. To let her know that the next move was on her.

After assembling the lasagna, she finally slid it into the oven, dwelling just a little bit longer than necessary as she bent over and placed it on the rack. Then she closed the oven door, placed a hand on her hip, and turned around to socialize with Robin.

"There," she said, exhaling. "Would you be kind enough to open that bottle of wine you brought?"

"Already done," he said, and she saw that Robin had indeed helped himself to two glasses from her cupboard and filled them with the ruby red liquid.

"Wonderful," she said, smiling. "Please, sit down at the table."

Before she joined him, she checked on Henry, tucked in his room, lying in his bed, his new book open.

"Dinner will be done in about a half hour, all right? You can join us at the table if you want."

"Okay," he said, without looking up from the page.

She returned to Robin and her wine glass.

"Are those more of your photographs?" Robin asked her, motioning towards the modern black and white framed prints she had propped up around the mirror on the antique fireplace mantel.

Regina nodded. "Yes. I took those when I was in Connecticut one summer with Henry."

"They're beautiful," he said, looking at the various prints of sunlight filtering through trees, of Henry running barefoot through the grass, of a pond with a tiny boat tied to a wooden dock.

"I love photography. Not as much as writing, granted, but quite a bit. I'm fortunate my new job requires that I go out and take photos from time to time."

She untied her crisp white apron before sitting at the table. She was wearing a grey dress with a gently draped collar. It looked a little severe for a Saturday night, she suddenly realized, regretting that she hadn't changed when she got home. The dress had seemed like a better idea in the afternoon when they were wandering around town, since it had looked nice underneath her black trench coat.

But then, as she noticed Robin's eyes lingering on her décolletage, she realized she _could_ have made a worse choice.

She sat down, her impeccably-manicured hands with deep ruby - almost black - polish wrapping around the wine glass.

"My feet are killing me. You had us on quite the tour of the city this afternoon," she said.

"Ah, well, as nice as you looked, I also noticed you weren't wearing the most comfortable of shoes."

"I see plenty of women in this city wearing impractical shoes. I am but one of many," she said defensively.

"You looked lovely, but I hate to see you in pain."

"I'm fine. Did Roland get back to his mother?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Ah. Good." Regina was curious about this woman. Unfortunately, she couldn't think of any way to ask about her without it seeming like she was prying.

Robin sighed. "Roland wanted to come over here for dinner when I told him I'd be seeing you again tonight. I think he likes you."

"Oh," Regina said. "Well, I do hope that I will see him again."

Robin nodded. "I am just building up my relationship with the boy again. I was, well, away… for a while, when he was younger. His mother and I, see, we weren't ever married…"

"Oh," Regina said. "Well, nor were Henry's father and I."

"Ah. Then you probably know how it is. He was a surprise. His mother, Marion, and I were in a relationship for a few months. By the time she found out she was pregnant, both of us had decided we were in different parts of our lives. It wasn't meant to be. When Roland came along… he was the best thing to ever happen to me, but I had some things to, well, deal with from before. I'm afraid his mother was in charge of parenting for a long while until I could have a real relationship with him. Fortunately, she is agreeable to letting me see him, even though she is still - understandably - quite protective."

"Roland is such a nice young boy. I have no doubt she is a good mother," Regina finally said, curious about this past that Robin was ducking around, but knowing there was no polite way to dig deeper.

Robin smiled somewhat wistfully. "She is, indeed. We met - and this is incredibly nerdy - at a Medieval and Renaissance-type Fair. She's a specialist on medieval art for Sotheby's in Paris, so that's how we hit it off."

Regina smiled. "That _is_ rather nerdy of you. But at least you weren't dressed as, say, Robin Hood. Or she as Maid Marian."

Robin bit his lip and looked at her guiltily.

"Oh, don't tell me you were?"

He laughed. "Sorry. But it was an obvious choice for both of us - and quite the ice breaker."

They both took a sip of wine.

"It was a long time ago. I wouldn't trade Roland for anything in the world."

"I wish Henry had gotten to know his father," said Regina.

"Oh?"

"He passed away unexpectedly, when Henry was only two. He doesn't remember him."

"I'm sorry to hear it."

Regina shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

They talked for a while longer, sipping their wine, listening to the soft music Regina had put on, a sort of new-age style tango drifting from her computer.

Suddenly, a strange smell wafted under her nose. In the next moment, Henry emerged from his room. Regina jumped up as Henry announced exactly what had just crossed her mind.

"Mom, I think the lasagna is burning."

..•..

They ate the lasagna anyways, Robin assuring Regina that only the edges had "browned." To her disappointment, the lasagna was way too dark on top, the edges quite burnt, and overall the dish was dry and less flavorful than she remembered. At least she'd managed to put together a nice side salad, and along with a few slices of garlic bread from a fresh baguette, they still had enough to eat.

"Normally mom's lasagnas are pretty good," offered Henry, after they'd eaten what they could. "This is way worse than usual."

"I have no doubt her lasagna is delicious," Robin said warmly, patting his mouth with a napkin. "Because despite its imperfections, this one is the best lasagna I've had in a long time - perhaps ever."

"You really don't need to say that," said Regina, regarding him suspiciously, while mentally kicking herself.

_Why, tonight of all nights, had she forgotten to set the timer on the oven?_

"I'll have you over again," she announced, the wine having made her a bit more direct than usual. "I assure you it will be perfect next time."

"I would come over again even if you were to serve me the same, vaguely burnt lasagna."

Regina cleared her throat and stood up nervously. "Henry, will you help me take some of these dishes into the kitchen?"

Henry stood up and carried his plate in, and Robin trailed with several other dishes.

"You don't have to, Robin."

"No, it's the rules. You cook dinner, I do dishes."

"Whose rules?" Regina asked. "I'm not making my guest do the dishes."

"Nonsense. Go. Spend time with Henry, and I'll clean up here." He urged her out of the kitchen, and began filling the small sink with water.

"There's no room in here for all of us to gather around - please, go, let me do this." he insisted.

Regina laughed. "Fine. Henry, why don't you go show me how much you've read in your book?"

One glance at a clock, and Regina realized it was well after 10. Henry usually went to bed by 10 or so on weekends. While Robin cleaned, she urged him to get his pajamas on and brush his teeth. When his nightly routine was finished, she read to him from one of the books that he'd chosen from the bookshop, and by about a quarter to eleven he had nodded off.

Regina carefully put the book back on his little bedside table and clicked off the lamp. She gingerly walked out of the room, gently closing the French doors behind her.

She dimmed all of the lights in the living room, leaving only one small light on her desk on, and went into the kitchen to check on Robin. He had dried all of the dishes with a towel and was neatly stacking them all back onto the shelf over the sink. For a moment, she was oddly entranced by this display of domesticity. It had been ages since anyone had done her dishes. In fact, she tried to think back to when it was. Maybe when her mother had visited her once?

"Thank you," she said quietly, and he turned towards her, smiling broadly.

"Why, thank you for dinner," he replied, his eyes sparkling.

She sighed softly. "The _burnt_ dinner," she corrected.

"It was delicious and the company was even better. And I will hold you to inviting me back for another taste test of a lasagna," he said.

She smiled.

"So…" he set the dish towel down on the counter, then hesitated.

There was silence, as Regina sucked in a breath and quickly tried to calculate her next move. He was definitely waiting. After a day with her, showing her and Henry around, subtle-but-not-subtle flirting, lingering glances, and dishes, she knew it was her turn.

But somehow - here, in this apartment, with Henry in the other room - she let the moment linger for too long, and it passed.

"Well," Robin said finally, breaking the silence. "It is late, and I do need to get home."

"Right," said Regina softly, it hitting her that she'd missed her chance for the evening. "We need to… tomorrow."

Her voice trailed off. Tomorrow was Sunday, and there was no work. For either of them.

Robin simply nodded, and she followed him to the door.

"Goodnight, Regina," he said in a low, smooth voice, a voice that, after a day of kindness and attention that he had given to both her and her son, managed to make her insides swirl and her hands a little jittery as she held out his soft brown leather jacket for him.

"Night," she said, and he disappeared down the stairwell.

She padded to her bedroom, gazing out at the night sky. The city was too bright to see any stars, but she found her neighbours' windows lit up against the night sky to be equally comforting. She stepped onto her narrow terrace. Below, Robin emerged from the building and began to walk down the sidewalk.

And that was the moment Regina stopped thinking so much.

She ran out of her apartment, barely time to slip into a pair of flats, not grabbing a coat to protect against the chill of the night air. She closed the door, didn't lock it, but had at least some sense to grab her keys so she could go all the way outside the main door. She practically flew down those stairs, and finally, out into the night air. She gazed in the direction she had seen Robin turn, and to her relief, he hadn't gotten far at all.

She didn't allow herself the time to obsess over any aspect of the moment. She strode quite purposefully towards him. He, meanwhile, turned and in the few seconds it took for her to reach him, observed her, his back against the smooth white stone of a neighboring building.

Without saying anything, she strode up to him, pressed herself towards him, and kissed him with all of the force and energy she had been bottling up that day.

It took him a second to catch on, then catch on he did. A moment later, she pulled away, looking at him, studying him, making sure that he was all right with the situation.

He was, apparently, because he moved towards her now and kissed her again.

They stayed on the sidewalk for several minutes, Letting themselves drift in and out of their kisses, the cool night air gently swirling around them as they were caught up in each other… back and fourth, back and fourth.

Their reverie was broken many minutes later as a man shuffled by them and let out a low whistle. Regina and Robin pulled apart, finally, a hand dropping from the back of her neck where his fingers had laced into her hair and he took her hand. They both laughed lightly and were smiling, their eyes soft and their fingers lazily winding together. Robin put his chin on top of her head, she now much shorter than him without her usual heels on.

"I have to go back in," she said after long moments, nodding towards her building. "Henry's up there."

"I'm glad you came back outside. This was a wonderful way to end a wonderful day," he said in a low voice.

"And to think, I'd been in such a bad mood this morning - and thought you'd never talk to me again after I'd been so crabby with you last week," she mused.

"You were crabby, but also very easy to forgive, somehow," he said, lightly tracing her neck just below her ear with the back of his hand.

"I want you to come upstairs," she said, lifting her chin up and whispering towards his ear.

His other hand squeezed hers and his body grew rigid for a moment.

"Are you sure?" he whispered back.

She thought for a moment, then sighed heavily.

"No," she admitted. "Not with Henry there… I'm not sure I'd be comfortable quite yet."

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then let's wait. There will be a better time."

He gave her a kiss which started out simple enough, but quickly deepened. A few minutes later, Regina pulled away again.

"I really have to go back home," she repeated, smiling.

He smiled, too, his eyes still latched on to hers.

"Goodnight, darling," he said, and they went their separate ways in the dark night.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Once again thank you to you all for your reviews, I really do enjoy your comments! I hope this next instalment does not disappoint. We'll delve more into Robin's story soon, which will create a little drama... but in general this is going to be a fun, romantic piece. :) As always, I don't own the characters, and as a reminder, this is AU with no magic/curses/Storybrooke. Happy reading!_

Regina stood in the pouring rain, on a tiny side street in Paris, surrounded by the old, stoic buildings, gazing around at her surroundings. From time to time she would just stop for a moment and observe the rain drip off the sides of the buildings and puddle in between the cracks on the slightly uneven cobblestone sidewalks and road, the cars swishing behind her or busy people walking brusquely past her with their Burberry umbrellas popped open.

Her trench coat was soaked, but under her arm her camera was tucked safely in a bag.

She had work to do, and only two hours before Henry got home from school. She needed to find inspiration for all of those blank pages that were staring back at her on her computer: she was under pressure to publish writing, to publish stories for her column. She needed to get work done this week, and come up with several brilliant ideas for her column that really featured life and fashion in Paris. Or so her boss had, essentially, told her.

No big deal.

Despite the pressure (and the moody weather), she was happy. Regina had been walking for a good hour or so, snapping a few photos here and there, making notes.

As she was jotting a note down on her phone, she saw that a text was coming in from Robin.

_I'd like to see you. You cooked dinner Saturday night. Let me provide you with a meal sometime this week. _

Her heart skipped a beat as she read the text. Adrenaline coursing through her hands, she composed a reply.

_That sounds fair. I didn't know you cooked?_

She ducked into a small cafe.

"Je prendrai un cafe au lait, s'il vous plait," she ordered from the man behind the bar, barely pulling her eyes from the screen of the phone.

_I don't. But I know someone who does at a delicious little hole-in-the-wall restaurant near the Luxembourg Gardens._

She raised her eyebrows.

_- Oh? And should I be worried about being taken to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with the man who broke into my apartment?_

She sipped the creamy coffee while she waited for the next reply.

_Probably. But I assure you, you will have the best meal of your life._

_- What an undeserved reward for a burnt lasagna. I do owe you another one, you know._

_I'm sure you can make it up to me sometime. Somehow._

_- You're quite confident._

_I tend to be overly optimistic._

She smiled again.

_- Thursday, then?_

_Thursday._

..•..

Regina hadn't dated much after Daniel passed away.

From time to time over the years, one of her coworkers would set her up with a friend or an acquaintance, but Regina found it hard to have time to date when she was a student and, later, when working, when she also had a young son at home. She generally wanted to spend her precious time after a long day at work with Henry, reading books or watching movies or visiting a park. The few times she did have a date, she always found herself distracted throughout the entire evening by thoughts of Henry: checking her phone to make sure the sitter had not called, her mind wandering during idle conversation over appetizers, wondering if she'd left enough food for him and the babysitter, or, by the time dessert came, if he would finish all of his homework when she wasn't there. Eventually, it was just too much of a mental struggle to go on a date _and_ be polite _and_ focus on and sound appropriately interested in her date _and _through it all, remain Henry's mother.

It was easier to stay at home.

Then there was that time three years ago, when she'd attended the annual Christmas party for the fashion magazine she was working for. She had started chatting with a slightly eccentric financial manager - someone she'd not crossed paths with prior - over a glass of wine, and found him to be relatively clever, kind, and polite. By the end of the night, they'd exchanged numbers and he called her two days later and asked her out.

Jefferson had been pleasant to date for a few weeks. He seemed respectful of the fact that she was balancing a hectic work schedule with motherhood. He always asked after Henry, was polite and agreeable when something came up and they had to postpone because of him.

For the first time in a long time, with Jefferson, Regina saw the potential to fall for someone again. She was far from in love with Jefferson, but she enjoyed the company, the companionship… and yes, after a while, the sex. After a few years of watching children's movies on Friday nights with Henry and focusing on homework and talking about dinosaurs and trains and cars, it was nice to have some adult conversation - and activities - with Jefferson.

Regina, however, found it difficult to fall in love with Jefferson. In lust, yes… _very_. He was quite skillful, and she graciously benefited from it, and learned a few things that she had never had a chance to with Daniel, when they had barely been adults.

But in _love_… no. There was always something missing. He would be distant at times, as though he longed to be someplace else. He didn't love living in New York, and during some of their dates and outings he would grumble about the traffic or the high cost of getting around and dining out. Their life outside of the bedroom grew stale.

Certainly, their nightly escapades prompted her to keep him around for a while. But Regina knew it wasn't going to work with him as she observed him interact with Henry one night, on a rare occasion she had him over for dinner. (She'd never introduced him to Henry as her boyfriend; she simply said he was a friend and coworker. Which he was…)

At that dinner, Jefferson hadn't really known what to say to the kid or how to interact with a seven year old. He was polite and kind to Henry, yes, but Regina sensed a heavy, awkward feeling in the air as he attempted to make polite conversation with her son. It was clear Jefferson would rather avoid Henry all together; he simply didn't know what to do with the kid.

On their nights out, away from her son, Jefferson never asked her about Henry, and his attention sometimes seemed to drift if she mentioned him in the conversation. He simply wasn't interested in a kid. That much was clear.

But Henry was a part of _her_. Such a huge part of her life. She couldn't comprehend someone not feeling what she felt towards him. Well, she could understand it - but she realized, eventually, that she needed someone who could appreciate not just her, but Henry as well.

Gradually, her dates with Jefferson died out. Regina was the one who finally called it off. They both seemed to be relieved when it was over. For weeks, there had been an unspoken agreement that it simply wasn't going to work.

After Jefferson, Regina returned to her weekly routine of movies on Friday nights with Henry, Saturdays visiting Central Park or one of the many museums in the city, Sundays doing homework and perusing some of their favorite bookstores. Just the two of them, in the city.

..•..

Regina's work kept her extremely occupied that week. She had an interview with the CEO of an architecture firm for a new feature profiling the professional women of Paris, wrote several posts for the blog that were barely submitted in time (but the point was that they _did_ make it in on time), and seemed to finally hit her stride with the copywriters turning in work on time - even though she couldn't visit their offices and annoy them personally in New York.

Regina was glad to run into Emma one day at Starbucks (yes, Paris had Starbucks, as it turned out). Emma was buried knee-deep in a pile of notebooks and textbooks.

"How are the exams going, dear?" Regina asked the blonde, slipping into the chair across from her at the table.

Emma looked up and sighed. "Could be better, could be worse. This class on international criminal law is testing my patience."

Emma paused to take a sip from her large coffee cup and studied her as she put her phone in her pocket.

"So a New Yorker goes to Paris and ends up in Starbucks… how very stereotypically American of you," Emma observed, grinning slightly.

Regina rolled her eyes. "Touché. I adore the coffee in every cafe, fine or otherwise, in this city, but from time to time I feel like something comforting from back home."

She looked down at her Americano. "Actually, I never even liked these _that_ much back home. I don't know why I was craving it."

"Forget it. After all, I'm French, and I'm here. There's a reason these Starbucks cropped up all over the city - some of us actually go to them once in a while."

"So I should be asking _you_ why you deign drink American coffee at this place."

Emma shrugged. "It's a way to get out of my apartment every once in a while, and I like them after the time I spent traveling around the U.S. years ago."

"I won't bother you for long, Emma," said Regina. "But I wanted to ask you if you'd mind watching Henry on Thursday night? I don't think you'll need to do much other than watch him play video games or watch a movie - I just need you to make sure he doesn't stay up too late. Or eat anything too awful. Of course, you can study if you need to. Would you mind terribly?"

Emma perked up. "And this wouldn't happen to be because you're going out with Robin, would it?"

Regina grinned and looked down at her lap. "Maybe."

"Nice. Of course I'll stay with him. P_as de problème, madame_."

..•..

Regina and Robin flirted via text for the rest of the week.

_Where are you taking me? A hole-in-the-wall, any dress code I should be aware of?_

_You and your dress codes. No. And you will look beautiful in anything._

For a fraction of a second she was tempted to type a_nd I also look great _without_ anything_, but there was no chance she'd ever dare send it.

_How far away is it? _She wrote instead.

_It's in a different part of town_, he replied. _Broaden your horizons a bit beyond Montmartre. _

But he wouldn't tell her where they were going.

Thursday night couldn't come soon enough. By Thursday, Regina had a difficult time concentrating on her work, dwelling on what shoes and jacket she would wear, but she pushed through, editing articles, editing and then submitting her style profile interview, posting content on the website.

And then she picked up Henry from school.

She knew something was wrong with the boy when he emerged from the old school building. His face looked pale, almost grey, and his eyelids were droopy. He was walking slower than usual, without his typical bounce.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, concern filling her voice as soon as he reached her where she was standing on the sidewalk.

He shrugged.

She reached out and felt his forehead. It was definitely too hot.

"I think you're sick, Henry. Come on, let's get you out of this drizzly day, and get you home."

He didn't say much as they walked home. She thought of when he was a little boy, and she could scoop him up into her arms. It pained her that she couldn't do the same now, but they didn't live too far at least.

At last, when they got home, she put him to bed right away, bringing him some toast to snack on, a hot cup of decaffeinated tea to sip on (he had started to cough) and cursed herself for not having stocked up on more medication since their arrival in Paris. If he had the flu, some sort of children's medicine for it would be helpful right about now.

With a heavy heart, she texted Robin to cancel.

He replied within a few minutes. _Sorry to hear it. Any reason why?_

He typed back that Henry had a fever and she needed to stay with him.

And then she didn't get a reply.

At first she was too concerned with doting over Henry to check - or think about - her phone, but after Henry finally fell asleep, she moved back out to the kitchen table and noticed there was still no reply.

As she went about preparing herself something small to eat, she had flashbacks to Jefferson, and the other men whom she'd dated occasionally, and how absolutely uninterested they had been in her son. She had thought that he'd be different, thanks to having a son, but the lack of response suggested otherwise. Maybe he didn't like playing second fiddle to her son any better than the rest of them.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

"Emma, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to call you or text you - I'm not going out tonight," Regina said when she opened the door.

"Oh - what happened?"

"It's Henry. When I picked him up after school, he had a fever. He's asleep now."

"Are you sure? If he's sleeping, you could still go for a little while, I don't mind."

"That's nice of you, but I wouldn't enjoy myself knowing he was back here and sick. Besides, I already told Robin."

"Oh, all right."

"If you want, stay for a few minutes. I just finished making myself a bit of pasta, and I made plenty if you would like some."

"Sure," said Emma, setting her heavy bag down on the floor and following her into the kitchen while Regina dished up the lemon-garlic arugula pasta.

They sat at the table and ate for a bit, chatting. As they ate, Regina's concerns started to bubble to the surface and she voiced them to Emma.

"After I told him I had to cancel because of Henry, he didn't reply," said Regina.

"I don't think that means anything. Maybe he's busy."

Regina sighed heavily. "Yes, or maybe not. I haven't exactly had the best experiences dating men when I have a son to focus on, too - and of course I always put Henry before my dates, something that doesn't end up being too popular to them."

Emma shrugged. "Men should appreciate that you're a good mother."

Regina snorted. "I don't know if I'm a good mother."

"Come on. This doesn't seem like you. You're always so confident," said Emma.

Regina exhaled and slumped a bit in her chair, nursing her glass of wine in her right hand. "I have to be, for work. It's been a difficult industry to work in - rewarding, yes, but difficult - I have to be like this, otherwise I'll be walked all over. But at home, I don't know what I'm doing. I mean, I moved my kid to Paris, I'm dating a guy I know nothing about, who may or may not love the fact that I have a kid who _will_ inevitably divert my attention from him."

"Listen. I don't know what kinds of guys you were with back in New York, but any guy who thinks you paying attention to your kid is taking away from the attention you could be giving him isn't worth your time," said Emma.

Regina sighed. "I just hope Robin texts me back."

"He will. He's a really good guy, you know. How much has he told you about his past?"

"Not much. Why, what do you know?"

Emma shrugged. "Not a lot, to be honest. He started volunteering at this organization in a really rough part of London. I was there as well - that was when I was traveling, trying to improve my English - it helps teens who have dropped out of school or about to drop out of school, offering them classes taught by professionals on all kinds of things, computer technology, cooking, art, even business administration, basically the kind of stuff they should know to either get some kind of job or apply to go back to school at some point. The organization tries to prevent kids from slipping through the cracks."

Regina shifted uneasily in her chair. "Impressive. What did he teach? Computers?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah. And a few other things. Talked about history. Even taught a bit of archery."

"Archery?"

She nodded. "Yes. He's good at it. You didn't know?"

Regina shook her head.

"So, he was coming in a few nights a week, helping them learn computer software, programming, talking about life. He was very good with them. A lot of the teens looked up to him. It mostly women who volunteer to teach at places like that, you know? But a lot of younger men drop out of school, and so this program was trying to catch some teenage boys and give them a second chance at school, or life, before they slipped through the cracks. So this tough-looking guy, Robin, comes in and teach them some skills, it just helped them think about how they could do more."

"Well. I had no idea he did all that. I mean, he mentioned he worked with some sort of outreach program back in London, but that's… really nice," she said.

Emma nodded. "Yeah. All of the rest of us volunteers loved him, too. He's this guy with his heart in the right place. I think he still stays in touch with some of the teens he helped, some of them went on to technical or trade schools, have jobs now. Good guy."

"Point well taken. He's a good guy," said Regina, now feeling inadequate for entirely different reasons.

She looked down at her designer dress, and designer shoes, and thought about the elegant dress and coat she had planned to wear on her date with him. It all seemed pretty frivolous to her now.

"To be fair, he never told us a lot about his life outside of his volunteer work," said Emma. "So I can't tell you much more about him."

Regina's eyes narrowed. "Is there some reason I should be concerned?"

Emma laughed. "I doubt it. Though he does have this weird - thing - with money. I mean, he has a job now, works for this big company, does computer engineering stuff for them, just like he said. But he's been really dodgy about his past. Never answered any of us when we asked about it, and the whole thing with him staying in your apartment, well, I just had a feeling he had some money issues, which is why he came to me."

"It must not have been cheap going to school to be an engineer," mused Regina.

Emma shrugged. "Well, I really don't know, although schools back in the UK aren't quite as bad as in the U.S."

"If I ever get a chance to go on a date with him, maybe I'll eventually find out more of this mysterious Robin," Regina said, glancing down at the phone for the 100th time that day.

_Since when did she become one of those people? Who glanced at her phone every 2 seconds, looking for the right person to call…_

"You will go on another date," said Emma in a reassuring voice. "Maybe his phone died and that's why he didn't text you back."

Regina shrugged. "I don't know if we're a good fit. He seems really selfless, and I never have volunteered in my life. My entire career revolves around consumerism, and that doesn't seem to be what he's into. I don't know if we have any common ground."

"You have done well so far."

Regina grinned, the memory of their kiss briefly coming back to her.

"It hasn't been long," she said, forcing herself out of the memory.

"Look," Emma leaned forward, towards Regina, a long lock of blonde hair falling off her shoulders as she did. "I don't have a lot of time to date, not with this law school insanity. I know you haven't had a lot of opportunities, either. So I know how you feel. Here's an opportunity - damn, you're lucky - take it, see where it goes. If it doesn't work, fine, there's always another guy out there for you. But you need to give it a fair try, in case it does work. Either way, you won't regret it."

Regina bit her lip and looked over at the blonde woman. "I suppose you're right."

"He's going to text back. And if he doesn't? Just try messaging him again, you've got nothing to lose except for a really hot date."

..•..

He texted back.

It was early the next morning when Regina noticed that he'd sent her a message sometime during the night. She woke up, too early to rise, but she was awake enough to grab her phone and see if any messages had come in during the night.

_So sorry for late reply. Mini technical emergency at work, had to work til 3 am. Hope Henry is feeling better and we can reschedule when you're ready._

Regina let out an exhale, and felt the relief course through her.

_When have I become so anxious for a date to work out? _She thought, shaking her head at herself, but smiling as she composed a reply.

..•..

Henry stayed home from school on Friday and began to perk up on Saturday. They stayed around the apartment both days, which allowed Regina to get ahead of some work for the next week while Henry watched television.

On Saturday, Emma texted Regina to ask if she'd heard back from him, and Regina filled her in.

_I've got a massive paper to write tomorrow, would love to get out of my apartment so if you want me to come over and sit with Henry for a while it would give you a chance to get out with Mystery Man, _Emma volunteered.

_Really? That would be great._

Within minutes, she arranged to meet Robin on Sunday evening.

..•..

Regina met Robin the next evening outside of her apartment. She'd decided to wear a simple cherry red dress, clasped just below the throat with a single button, the fabric occasionally offering a peek of skin below. The dress was light and pretty for a spring evening. She kept her makeup soft and natural, but her shoes impractical, as usual. She couldn't help it.

Robin beamed when he saw her emerge from the main door of her apartment building.

"Are you ready, my lady, for our date, at long last?"

She smiled. "Of course."

"Right this way."

They went to the metro.

"We're going across the river," explained Robin, as several stations passed. "The Luxemborg Gardens are beautiful, I thought you might like to see them. Then to dinner. There's a friend of mine, he is one of the chefs at a little restaurant there."

"I'm looking forward to this."

"Now, fair warning, this is not a, like, fancy place. it's comfort food, homestyle food, kind of a fusion of French country cooking and - don't laugh - some British comfort food. My friend, after all, is a Brit."

"I'm up for anything," she assured him, enjoying the rare treat of being catered to.

When they finally emerged from the metro a while later, they walked to the Luxembourg Gardens, which were stunning in the spring evening light. Lily ponds surrounded by sculptures, endless statues and pretty topiaries. Flowers burst out from tidily-maintained rows and hedges.

"Look familiar?" Robin pointed out a statue, and Regina smiled.

"The Statue of Liberty."

"A small replica, at least," he said as they walked closer.

Robin also pointed out a stag statue.

"That one is my favorite," he said, looking at it.

"Stunning," said Regina, gazing at the lifelike deer, gazing proudly ahead.

"Indeed," Robin replied, though when she glanced over at him she realized he was not looking at the statue, but rather, at her.

She nervously bit the inside of her cheek.

"Where to next? It is getting late," she said, noting the sun had shifted well below the trees.

"We can head to dinner any time now. Are you hungry yet?"

"Of course."

"Good. The restaurant is nearby."

They walked three blocks, then Robin directed her to a side street and to a squat old building with a heavy wooden door. _La flèche d'or, _the sign said.

"The golden arrow?" translated Regina.

Robin nodded.

They entered the restaurant, which was anything but a hole in the wall. It was small, and a little rough around the edges, but pleasant and more elegant than Regina had been expecting. The restaurant had a row of warm, square wooden tables and chairs, a creaky and very scuffed wooden floor, a large fireplace on one end of the room (which was lit against the slight chill of the spring evening), and shelves and shelves of wine bottles. Inside smelled of the pleasant smells of fragrant foods mingling with the faint smell of liquor.

"Bonsoir," a hostess greeted them warmly.

Robin said a few words to her in his thickly-accented French, and she laughed and smiled widely and said "Welcome" to Regina in English, then led them to a table at the side of the room.

"My friend, Will, will come out and meet us," explained Robin as Regina sat down.

As they glanced over at the _menu du jour_, which was scrawled out on a chalkboard, the bartender brought them two champagne glasses filled with a red-tinged bubbly liquid.

"On the house," she said in French.

"Kir?" Regina guessed, looking over at Robin.

Robin nodded and held up the glass, looking her in the eye. "I believe so. Cheers, darling."

"Robin, mate," said a heavily accented English voice behind them.

"Will!" Robin hopped up, warmly greeting the young man who had short brown hair and ears that stuck out just a little too far.

"An' who's this fine lady?" Will turned to Regina.

"Will, meet Regina," Robin said.

"It's a pleasure," he said, looking at her.

She smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"So what'd Robin say to you to convince ya to give the miserable ol' bastard a chance?" Will said to Regina, teasing.

She laughed. "He got me drunk on whiskey, actually," she said, playing along.

"Makes sense. The ladies can only go out with him if they're completely pissed."

"Aw, come on, mate," Robin groaned.

Will laughed. "I'm jokin', of course, this is the nicest son of a bitch you'll ever meet," he said to Regina, looking her directly in the eyes.

"We'll see," she said, teasingly.

"Come on, that's not true either," Robin said to Will, looking a bit embarrassed, glancing over at Regina to gauge her reaction.

"Nah, it's true. He taught me how to use a computer, told me I was no good at programming, so he sent me to culinary school instead," said Will.

"That's not _exactly_ how I phrased it…" muttered Robin.

Will grinned. "Best thing anyone ever told me. Me, I always thought I was worthless, lived on the streets half of my teenage life in London, finally was dragged into this program one day buy someone, don' remember who, an' Robin taught me that I could actually do somethin' productive other than smoke and drink. That place in London, it's where I learned some actual skills, an' a few years later, here I am."

"Will is a very talented chef," said Robin. "Used to make the most delicious sandwiches for us back when we were volunteering, and I told him he had to pursue a career in the culinary arts.

Will nodded, confirming the story.

"And how did you end up in Paris?" Regina asked.

"Heard about a job opening, this place needed a chef who knew 'bout good homestyle English food, which is the only thing I really know about. I crossed the channel, and here I am."

"I'm looking forward to this meal," Regina said politely.

"Oh, I'll start bringing you plenty in just a moment, don' worry. And this one eats a lot -" he playfully poked Robin in the shoulder. "So much, ye'll have to carry 'em home."

"Good thing I wore comfortable shoes, then," replied Regina.

Will left them to their dinner, and the parade of food began almost instantly, delicious appetizers of a creamy soup, crusty bread. Salads with herbs and fruit, roast pork and roast duck, a sort of casserole of vegetables and deep Indian spices. After a while, Regina lost track of everything they were eating (and drinking), enjoying the time she was spending with Robin, deep into conversation about everything from Roland's favorite books and toys to the best place to find affordable wine in Montmartre, to Regina's struggles to come up with a good idea for her column for work and her search for the next Parisian woman to write a style profile on.

As they dwelled over dessert, a divine, dark chocolate mousse served in delicate little ramequins with raspberries and shaved white chocolate on top, they laughed about their adventures with the French language, and Regina told him about a time as a student when she got sorely lost on the train from Paris to Versailles.

As she scraped the last of the chocolate from the little ramequin, her crossed leg bumped into his leg.

"Sorry," she said automatically, pulling it away out of habit.

"You needn't apologize," he said.

"Force of habit," she admitted. "I won't apologize for brushing up against you in the future."

"I'll hold you to that," he said, smirking.

They finally left, hours later, completely full.

"I think you need to carry me home," she said happily as they left the restaurant and stepped into the dark night air.

"Wrong. You said you're the one doing that tonight." He glanced down at her feet. "You lied."

"What?"

"You didn't wear comfortable shoes at all," he teased lightly under his breath. He moved towards her then, almost a dance as he lightly placed his fingertips on both of her arms, dipping his face downwards to meet her lips.

They kissed deeply, then, on the quiet Thursday night streets in that charming neighbourhood in Paris, next to a bench at a little tiny park, empty in the late night, only the orange glow of the street lamp illuminating it and them.

Regina allowed her mind to quiet, to be lost in the feeling of it for a few moments. To forget Henry, or work, or even being appropriately impressed with his friend's (admittedly very good) cooking.

They didn't come up for breath for a while, eventually parting, though Robin with his forearm still resting on her shoulder, absently playing with a strand of her hair, and she with an arm wrapped around his waist.

"It was nice meeting Will. It seems like you've done a lot of nice things for people," she said.

The back of Robin's hand began stroking her neck absentmindedly, causing her to shiver slightly in the night air.

Robin paused mid-stroke and looked away, seemingly nervous all of the sudden.

"I'm not that good," he said flatly. "I just volunteered for a year or so, I met some great people, made a few suggestions is all."

"That's not all."

He shrugged. "I assure you, I am no saint."

She pulled away slightly. Why was he being so modest? He was way ahead of her… she'd never helped someone go from the streets to working in a fine restaurant in Paris.

"You seem to fool some people."

He sighed heavily.

"Please, Regina," he said softly. "Don't be under any illusions about me. I've caused my fair share of…mischief. Trust me."

She studied him for a moment. The mood had shifted between them, a bit of the spark dissipating into the night.

"I have to go," she sighed into his collar, not wanting anything more to change from the happiness they'd shared all evening.

"All right, he whispered, his voice softer again, betraying that he was reluctant to let her go. He soothingly ran his hand up and down the sleeve of her light jacket, while the other one wrapped her closer. He was stalling.

When they finally mustered up courage to part, He hailed her a taxi - a rare splurge, but it was late, and she was tired, and had to get back home to Henry and work the next morning - and held open the door as she stepped inside.

"I'll plan the next date," she said to him, biting her lip and smiling mischievously. "It may not show off how saintly of a person I am, but I assure you, it will be memorable."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well darling, I'll make sure you make good on that promise. Among others."

The taxi pulled away.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: _

_Hello everyone! As always, a big thank you to those who have followed, favorited, and left reviews! You are really keeping me motivated to continue this little fic. I have tried to write a story that I would enjoy reading over morning coffee or just before bed: nothing too scary, or tragic, or dramatic, but rather a relaxing little bit of escapism, and hearing you comment and saying you are enjoying it in that way just makes me feel great, so thank you._

_To answer a few of your questions: _

_I have approximately 14-15 chapters planned for the entire story. My goal is to update it once a week (around the weekends). Because of some recent travels, I haven't completely stuck to that schedule, but rest assured that I will continue to update as close to once a week as possible._

_Paris is one of my favourite cities. I have visited it and am drawing extensively on my memories of walks to various parts of the city. One of my favorite sights in the region, Versailles, features heavily in this chapter. Paris felt like a city that would lend itself well to an AU Regina and Robin. And it's just fun to write about, and hopefully read about!_

_A few of you have asked if the rating will change to "M." My answer is… probably. And probably very soon. (As in, by the next chapter). I don't consider myself specialized in writing explicit romance. So many authors do a great job with that and, well, it's not really my thing, so it's probably not something that will feature prominently. With that said, I'll see where it goes and what makes sense for the story and characters. Robin and Regina are both adults, and it's an important part of any adult romantic relationship, so, yes, there is going to be some adult action when the time is right. For those of you who would rather avoid anything "M", I'll be sure to mention in the notes where you can expect that to start in case you'd rather skim over it and keep to the "T" stuff. _

_I hope that answers some of your questions. __Happy reading!_

* * *

><p>Mid- morning on Wednesday, Regina received a text from Robin.<p>

_I'm about to have lunch in Montmartre - had a business meeting in this area earlier - care to join?_

Regina hesitated, looking at her long to-do list for the week, but finally gave into the nervous, jittery, happy feeling that receiving the text had inspired in her. There was no point in trying to pretend: she _did_ want to see him again.

"You look gorgeous," Robin said when she arrived at the cafe 20 minutes later, he rising up from a table to greet her.

"Oh," she said, looking down at herself uncertainly. "Thank you. My weekday work-from-home attire." She had on skinny black pants, flats, a smooth grey t-shirt and a vest. She'd thrown on a necklace and a ruby shade of lipstick, but hoped that the casual look would be okay for a mid-day lunch.

"I like it when you look like _you_," he said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled broadly at her.

She glanced down at the table, where the pages of a French newspaper that he'd been reading while waiting for her to arrive were scattered. Robin collected the pages and stacked them in the corner of the table.

"What is good here?" She asked, gazing at the day's menu written on a blackboard above the bar.

"I like the _canard à l'orange_, it is the specialty today, so it comes as a three-course lunch."

"Duck with orange sauce? It does sound good," she said, "If not slightly more extravagant than I'm used to having on Wednesdays at lunch."

"No reason we can't make a simple weekday lunch a little special."

She smiled. "Of course. Why not."

They enjoyed their lunch, eating the bright, flavourful food as their voices mingled with the sounds of many other people at other tables in the cozy cafe during the busy lunch hour. The time passed quickly, and before they knew it, Robin's phone was beeping every few seconds.

He sighed heavily as he read some of the messages on the screen. He apologized, explaining he had to check it since it was, technically, the middle of his workday.

"Don't worry," she said, eyeing her own phone while finishing the last of her duck and popping one last sauce-tinged piece of crusty bread into her mouth.

The workday would be beginning in New York soon; she had other things to think about, too.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Robin said after reading some of the messages and standing up. "My company's rolling out a security update to some of the software this afternoon and it seems there are already issues."

He looked crestfallen that he had to leave, but she shook her head to assure him. "I understand completely. I really should be getting back, too."

He looked into her eyes - his eyes, his perfect blue eyes - she regretted he had to go.

"Thank you for joining me," he said.

"Any time," she said, rising to kiss him goodbye.

"Dessert hasn't come yet - why don't you stay? I've already taken care of the tab," Robin said, gently urging her to sit down again.

"It's okay. I can walk you out," she said.

He was already putting on his jacket, and leaned over to kiss her again, this time on the cheek.

"No. I really do have to run. Stay, enjoy the sweet, my sweet."

She grinned, her nose crinkling a bit. "That was a little cheesy."

He laughed. "Seriously darling, stay. I'll talk to you soon?"

Regina nodded and waved him goodbye, thanking him for the lunch. Moments later, the server brought her dessert, a small _tarte aux framboises _with just a dab of homemade vanilla ice cream on the side.

"Mmm," she said to herself, savouring the sweet, springtime flavours of the dish, suddenly glad she had stayed.

As she ate, she glanced at the newspaper that Robin had left behind on the table. The page on top was the cover of the business section, and she lazily glanced over the page, reading the title of the article on the page that he'd had open last.

_Vallin helps pass controversial law protecting immigrant women's rights in the workplace_, the headline said in French.

Regina began reading the article mainly to practice French (which she _really_ needed to make time for more often), but also because she was curious about the woman in the picture: a very pretty, young woman named Vallin, a politician.

Regina glanced down at her phone, searching Vallin's name. She was a member of the French Parliament, quite outspoken, relatively young, and… extremely well dressed.

_Perfect_, thought Regina. _The next subject for my profile on the best-dressed Parisian women._

She left the cafe after finishing her dessert, the page of the newspaper with Vallin in her bag, and went back to work.

..•..

"I'm not terribly domestic," Regina said to Emma one afternoon after running into her when they were both returning home and having invited her upstairs for a cappuccino.

She was quickly tidying up the table, where Henry had been doing his homework the previous night. Pencils, papers, books, and their glasses and plates were still there. She had neglected to clean up after a deadline kept her up well after Henry had gone to bed.

"It's really no problem, my apartment is in a constant mess, not close to as nice as yours," Emma said, plopping down at the table. "So, changing the subject, how's life with Robin going?"

"Good," admitted Regina, smiling as she thought of their lunch the other day. "But it's up to me to plan the next date. I am not entirely sure what to do for him… his date was so great, he took me to that amazing restaurant, introduced me to a friend… I just don't know."

Regina paced nervously around the kitchen as she supervised the coffee, her heels clicking against the wood floor.

Emma sighed. "You're overthinking it, just do something that reflects who you are."

"Oh sure, I'll just take him to a fashion photo shoot. I'm sure the man who always wears khaki green in some form or another will appreciate that."

Emma snorted a laugh, but quickly stifled it. "No, I mean, something you like, something you enjoy, something that will give him insight into why your work is meaningful to you."

"That is… well, not an entirely bad idea," Regina said, placing the two small cups of coffee in front of them.

..•..

They met at Versailles one Friday morning. It was the opposite of modest, and humble, and down-to-earth… everything that Regina associated with Robin. But it was one of her favorite parts of France, a place she remembered visiting and being inspired by as an art student. It was also one of the few attractions that wasn't tinged with memories with Daniel, as the two of them had never gone there together.

She had been looking forward to seeing it again, and regretted slightly that she wasn't taking Henry with her. She would bring him back another time.

She saw Robin waiting for her across the street from the train station, exactly where they'd agreed to meet.

"Good morning," Regina said, smiling as she greeted him with a kiss, his arms stretched out to welcome her in an embrace.

As they kissed for a little longer than maybe they should have while standing in the middle of the sidewalk, she felt his hands migrating slightly lower on her back, and despite herself, she pulled back, smiling playfully. "Not quite yet. I do have to focus on work this afternoon, you know."

"Oh?" He pulled back from her, surprised. "So this is a working date?"

"It is. I am shooting a street style feature, which means I find people on the sidewalks, stop them, ask them if they want to be on a fashion website, ask them a bit about themselves and their personal style, and photograph them exactly as they are. I have been photographing people around Paris, but I thought someplace different would be good today."

"Well, it is lovely here," Robin said, glancing around them.

"Have you ever been to Versailles?"

"I have not."

"Really? Well, then before I get into work, let's see it. It's one of my favorite places… as an art student, I spent hours wandering its halls and admiring the perfect gardens, the textures of the wallpapers and fabrics, the staggering beautiful of the paintings on its ceilings, and then the hall of mirrors… which is always crowded with tourists, but spectacular nonetheless," said Regina.

They walked towards the massive grounds of Versailles, and stood in a (mercifully short, it was still a little ahead of peak tourist season), line to pay their entrance to get into the beautifully preserved palace.

Wandering through the endless rooms, one connected to the next, they chatted about the extravagance and history of the storied place.

"It's like a movie set," Robin said, clearly impressed at its grandeur.

"It's an important part of French history," said Regina.

"The extravagance of the royal court at that time was ridiculous, you have to admit," grumbled Robin.

"It was," said Regina cautiously. "But they certainly left their mark on art and fashion and music, and had an impact on the arts even after the Revolution."

They finished their tour of the palace by walking through the crowded Hall of Mirrors.

"It is impressive," Robin admitted, as they navigated through the hoards of tourists snapping photographs. "Can you imagine the meetings that took place here? The treaty that ended World War I was signed in this room…"

"It might be extravagant, but you have to admit, it's an unforgettable location that has witnessed some unforgettable things," Regina said.

Tiring of the crowds (the palace was getting busier as the day wore on), Regina guided him outside to the back end of the spectacular palace, where they purchased tickets to enter the palace grounds.

"This is what feels most like a movie set to me. It's hard to believe all of this is real," Regina said, walking across the massive expanse of perfectly-manicured land towards an incredible fountain. They gazed out at the land before them: endless gardens, statues, a long canal and at the far end, another fountain.

The day was warm, the sun was out, and there was a slight breeze in the air.

"Where to next, my lady?" Robin said in a faux-aristocratic, yet charming, voice, offering her his arm.

"I thought we might have some refreshments?" said Regina, adding that she did, in fact, have to begin some of her work after.

They wandered for a bit, past manicured hedges, breathtaking marble statues, deep into the gardens of Versailles, which eventually gave way to a woodsier setting.

"Feeling more at home here?" Regina teased, noting that Robin relaxed after they'd left behind the perfectly curated lawns and parterres of flowers, the endless gardens of roses and peonies and topiaries that were closer to the palace, and headed into the woods that surrounded the "grand canal," or the channel of water that ran the expanse of the lawns.

Robin nodded. "This is much more my style. No need for manicured lawns, the woods is beautiful."

He then turned to Regina. "And I'm in beautiful company."

She bit her bottom lip, and Robin stopped, stepped forward, and gently guided her closer to him, his right hand threading through her hair. He leaned in and they kissed deeply, surrounded by nothing but the sunlight filtering through the towering trees, the sounds of the chirping birds in the background.

"I think it's time for a bite to eat," Regina said softly a few minutes later, pulling away.

Robin hummed, and gave her one last kiss. "I suppose," he whispered, reluctantly drawing away.

There were food carts around the grounds of Versailles, and after consulting a map that they'd picked up when they first arrived, they went to a place where a few men with carts were selling sandwiches made with crisp, crusty baguettes and hard apple ciders… a slightly alcoholic drink that was more exciting than bottles of water.

Regina had planned that they might get something to eat during their visit to the gardens, and so had tucked an old plaid blanket in her camera bag. They found a flat piece of grass and spread the blanket out under a massive tree, and ate their lunch, watching as people wandered through the paths and grassy clearings, including an impeccably-dressed woman with a massive, gorgeous dog with long hair.

"She would be perfect for my piece," said Regina, studying the woman for a moment then pulling her camera out of its case, turning it on and adjusting the dials as she stood up and gracefully strode toward the lady with the dog.

..•..

Robin watched her as she spoke with the woman, the two chatting politely. After a few moments, he saw the other woman nod at her, smile in agreement, and then made the large dog sit at her heels. Regina stepped back, focused her camera and then snapped a few photos. She then returned to the woman and they chatted a bit longer, and she appeared to record something that they were saying on her iPhone.

Robin gazed admiringly at her as she worked: Regina was a small woman - as she sat next to him, relaxing, during lunch, he'd noted her delicate, feminine hands, her slender arms and legs, elegant dark features, her soft, ever-so-perfect curves - but then when she was hard at work, she seemed larger-than-life when she was in her element, glamorous as she took photos, confidently conversing with others, determinedly writing notes on a tiny notebook or on her phone.

_How did this woman like him?_ He wondered. _How had he been lucky enough to find her? Would he like her as much if he knew about his muddy, stupid past? How would he ever keep her interested in him?_

After she shook hands with the other woman, gave her a business card and they parted, he smiled at her as she walked back towards him, the bright afternoon sun filtering through the trees and catching the slightly reddish hues in her dark hair as she sat down to finish her sandwich. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her beautiful rosy lips (well, he _did_ want something more, but that would not be decent in public), but he let her finish her sandwich and tell him about the woman she'd just spoken to before he found himself worshiping those lips again.

..•..

They walked to Le Petit Trianon after lunch, which was the country home of Marie Antoinette. That, too, was open to the public, and the two of them wandered through the "small" estate.

"This is slightly more on my scale, though still a little grand for my tastes," Robin said, standing in the foyer.

"Don't move in," Regina teased. "I'm not sure the royal family would appreciate that, and I hear they are fond of the guillotine."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind."

Afterwards, they wandered the grounds closer to the Petit Trianon, Regina admiring the Regina gardens and then a little gazebo, near which she found an art student sketching out a drawing for a class project. She photographed the girl, who was dressed in head-to-toe black and red, a contrast with the light colours of the gardens. Robin again admired Regina as she worked.

They left the grounds of Versailles after that, deciding to walk the sidewalks of the nearby town of Versailles, where Regina found more people to photograph and talk to, some turning her down and others graciously allowing them to photograph her, posing next to street signs, outside of cafes or near old stone walls.

"Let me carry your camera bag," he offered as she began her work.

"Oh," Regina said, surprised. "You don't have to."

"Please," he insisted, and she relented and handed it to her. He then trailed after her, watching her, admiring her as she continued to work confidently, camera in hand.

The afternoon wore into evening, but the long days meant the sun was still up.

"Time to call it a day?" Robin asked her eventually.

Regina nodded, and took back her bag to put away her camera. "I believe I can now. Thank you for being a wonderful assistant."

"My pleasure. Now, let me treat you to a glass of wine, darling."

She raised her eyebrows. "It wasn't in my plans for the date…"

"Ah, but you have had a long day, and I could take over from here, if you'd like?"

Regina smiled and relaxed. "All right, then. I have to admit I didn't exactly have a lot of plans for afterwards, I figured you might be tired of wandering after me for so long."

"I'm not. You've kept me completely under your spell," he said, kissing her on the lips again.

They sat down at an outdoor cafe, crowded with others who were chatting and drinking merrily after a busy Friday. They both ordered the same kind of red wine, and then Robin requested a little plate of cheeses and small appetizers to accompany their drinks.

But before their wine was served, Regina pointed out a woman who was sitting at a table nearby, to her left. She was an older woman, very small, with the most elegant outfit: black pants, heels, a soft lavender shirt and an elegant deep lavender beret on her perfectly-coiffed silver-white hair. She was very pretty. She easily could have been 85, and Regina watched as she talked, her movements graceful as she sipped a glass of white wine and took bites of a small slice of cake, and spoke with another woman who was decades younger than her.

"That woman is so elegant. I want to speak with her," she said.

Regina stood up and gently approached the woman, who greeted her and smiled warmly, inviting her to sit with her at her table. Robin, left alone, observed the process.

"How flattering, thank you," he heard the woman say to Regina in a strangely-accented French after a few moments.

Regina took a few photos of the woman, and then spoke with her a bit more. Robin couldn't hear what they were saying, but then Regina moved back to their table a few minutes later.

"See, this is why I love my job," she sighed, taking the glass of red that had been delivered by the waiter while she was speaking with the other woman.

"She was an activist, from South America, visiting France on vacation this week. She's ninety - _ninety years old_ - yet so elegant. She said fashion has always been everything to her. It gave her the confidence to participate in political activism back at a time when it wasn't common for women to do so," she smiled, looking at the screen of her camera and smiling at the photographs she had just taken of the woman.

"You know," Robin said, popping an olive into his mouth as he regarded her, thinking about his day spent observing her work. "I always thought of fashion as something that was just… unnecessary. To get people to buy, buy, buy. But seeing you working on it today, I can see that it's different. I can see that it's meaningful in a way I'd never considered."

He looked at her, holding his gaze into her eyes for a moment, then sighed, dropping his eyes to his lap and playing with a thumb nervously.

"I had a mother who was very into fashion. The latest styles, she took all kinds of trips to London and Paris. As a kid, I thought she was so selfish. She seemed to care more about shopping and dressing up and going to fancy parties with my father than she did me. I suppose that also sounds a little selfish… but I just didn't get it, all that fuss, when I was a boy."

Regina raised her eyebrows. So, that explains Robin's slight disdain over her preoccupation with fancy dresses and shoes.

"I suppose it can seem frivolous at times," she conceded. "But it means a lot to a lot of women. That's why I enjoy doing these street style features, and also the style profiles of different women. I have one coming up next week with a French politician that I'm very much looking forward to working on. I like to know why women wear what they wear, and what it means to them. To me, fashion is more than an image or a trend, it's a part of who people are. It tells me about… their heart."

"I can see that. I - I do love my mother, don't get me wrong," said Robin. "But my parents, they were very distracted by material luxuries. My father had made a fair bit of money, quickly, and my parents enjoyed it. Sometimes more than I think they should have. I resented them."

"Well, fashion sometimes invokes excessive materialism and consumerism," Regina admitted, shifting nervously and taking another sip from her wine. "And it can provide a disguise, yes, and a distraction from the more important things in life. But that's not what I love about it. I love that it provides an expression of oneself, and, as that woman just told me, it has the tremendous power to instil confidence."

Robin smiled, and held his glass up to her. "Point well taken."

Regina looked at her glass of wine, seeing her reflection on its shiny surface, watching the red liquid slowly trail its way down the side of the glass. "I have to admit, I thought you might have found me a bit… shallow, when we first met."

"Hmm, well, I did, to be honest," he said.

She looked at his eyes, studying his expression, pursing her lips.

He reached for her hand, and she let him clasp it between his two big, strong, slightly callused hands.

"But I stand corrected," he said moments later. "Your perspective on this art form is one that is very important."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"So, my lady," Robin raised his glass. "To a successful day of fashion journalism, and enlightening a poorly-dressed old computer and medieval geek."

She laughed, and they clinked glasses.

"You're not poorly dressed," she said, smiling at him.

He raised his eyebrows, and glanced down at his shirt before looking her in the eyes. "I have been trying."

..•..

Later, after they'd finished their wine and snacks and settled their bill, they found themselves back on the sidewalk and Regina wondered nervously what was next.

"Its strange, how opulent the Palace of Versailles is, but walking around here, around this town, it seems so normal and unremarkable," she said, slightly anxious as they wandered aimlessly down a sidewalk.

Robin stopped on the sidewalk, and turned to her, his hand resting gently on her waist.

"You are a very visual person," he said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "But stop looking around you for a moment, and worrying about where we are, or thinking about your work, or what we should do next, and just feel what is happening."

He leaned in to kiss her then, and she closed her eyes, letting go of her thoughts and enjoying his kisses, which started sweet and gentle but quickly deepened, growing more urgent. All of her senses faded - the lights before her eyes, the sounds of the street and people talking on the sidewalk - there was only her, and Robin, on an evening when neither of them wanted to let go of the other.

Robin eventually pulled away, and spoke to her in a low voice.

"Now. As for what is next, I doubt the French will think too fondly of a Brit and American crashing at Versailles for the night. So, tell me, do you want to go home now - or can I take you to my place?"

She kissed him again, then whispered, "I think you know the answer."


	7. Chapter 7

_Happy New Year, everyone! Best wishes to you all. Have a wonderful 2015._

_Here we go, the next chapter. This one does push the story into an "M" rating (the overall story has been updated to reflect that). Although I think it's important to the development of the characters, if something that's a little more explicit isn't your thing, please skip forward and make sure you read the last section of this chapter before going on. If things that _are_ explicit are your thing... well, enjoy. :)_

_Once again, thanks for all of your support! - Ana_

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><p>Regina had never had a serious relationship before Daniel.<p>

By some standards, she was a bit of a late bloomer. She had dated, appreciated many late nights of lying in bed with another, hands wandering, exploring. But never really had any relationship that was overly serious until she was well into her sophomore year of university. Even then, she was hesitant to go anywhere with it, perhaps in part because of her conservative upbringing, and after a while she and that first semi-serious boyfriend had become frustrated with one other (he because she wouldn't move fast enough, she because she resented feeling pressure), and they broke up. So it took until she was with Daniel before she finally felt comfortable enough to become intimate with someone.

She had fallen for him in Paris. And that was also the first time she had had sex.

They had gone back to the flat that she'd shared with her roommate during her study abroad program - her roommate had been out that night, mercifully - and they'd started things innocently enough, but by the end of the evening, things had gotten… serious.

It was awkward and clumsy, but at the same time lovely. Absolutely nothing you would ever see in a romantic film, no candles or swelling music or dim lighting… at once incredibly basic, punctuated with sloppy kisses and talking and smiles and reassuring hugs, making sure her elbow was here, her legs there, shifting so that (the slightly more experienced) Daniel didn't crush her at all as he was on top of her.

It was no perfect sexual experience, but it was not bad, either… it was what it was. Sweet and romantic, innocent and simple. It was _real_.

Of course, they got better at it, eventually.

..•..

"Will you let me make you breakfast?"

Regina was sitting on the small couch in Robin's living room, clasping a bracelet back on her wrist that had fallen off the night before and studying the screen of her phone.

She looked up, smiled, and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"You're awake," she said, before finishing noting something down on her phone.

"I am. Sorry I slept so late… but you wore me out last night, darling," he said, moving towards her with a mischievous smile, leaning forward to kiss her on her forehead.

She paused, stopped typing on her phone, and bit her lip. "I wore you out? I don't think that's very fair," she teased, looking up at him with wide, sparkling eyes. "You seemed like a _more-_than-enthusiastic participant."

He simply looked her up and down. "You're dressed," he remarked, not hiding the disappointment in his voice.

"I wasn't sure… if you had to work. I didn't want to be in your way, in case you didn't want me lingering, or…" Regina stammered, dropping her eyes.

Robin stretched lazily, and reached over to her, running his fingers gently along her neck, tracing her jawline with the back of one hand.

"Not a chance," he said, urging her to stand up, then resting his hands on her waist.

She relaxed her shoulders, allowed him to pull her closer.

"Stay with me, for a little while longer," he said, his forehead resting against hers.

He kissed her on the nose, and she smiled. "Fine."

"Let me make you breakfast… and by that I mean I will be running to the patisserie down the street and buying some croissants. But I can put some coffee on before I go," he offered.

Regina nodded, setting her phone down and placing her hands on her hips, watching him wander into the kitchen and appreciating the view of his back side.

As he moved around, preparing the coffee, he instructed her to wait for him so they could eat something and have a proper morning together.

"I'll stop getting ready," she assured him, laughing lightly, but reaching for her phone again. "I just have to check my messages, make sure there's nothing from Henry."

After getting the coffee underway, Robin moved towards the door. He took his jacket and stuffed his wallet into his pocket, and after an "I'll be right back," he left.

While he went to the pastry shop, Regina scrolled through her emails on her phone. Nothing of any particular urgency, nothing from Emma or Henry. She'd have to go home this morning, but… she could spare an hour with Robin.

As she finished typing notes on her phone - which was an idea for a new feature for the blog, something she could pitch to her editor about finding love in Paris (_how romantic_, she thought to herself, _she was growing soft_) - she relaxed into the sofa, which smelled new. She wondered if Robin had recently bought it, or if it was someone else's and he'd just borrowed it. (If so, she hoped he'd "borrowed" it legitimately).

Last night, Robin had explained to her that he'd finally rented an apartment. He felt like settling in, after months of indecision about whether or not he wanted to stay in Paris. Roland, of course, was a motivating factor to make things here more permanent.

But because of the way he'd been looking at her pointedly as he told her that, she wondered what else was on his mind. What else he wanted to make permanent.

..•..

When they had arrived at his apartment the night before, it was dark, very late, but they had both been buzzing with raw nerves, excitement, arousal.

Robin was well into his thirties, Regina just around thirty. But somehow, both of them had sensed that the other was not perfectly used to bringing someone else home. Sure, they were both adults. They'd had trysts. Obviously. But beforehand, both had indicated to the other that it had… been a while. And it showed, in the way that they were polite, and even tentative, with one another, after stepping into the small apartment. Robin offered her a drink, which Regina refused - then changed her mind and asked for water. He brought two glasses, one for both of them, and set them on a small wooden table at the end of the couch.

Regina then decided it wouldn't be the worst idea to visit the washroom, just to take a moment. To breathe, to splash water on her face (it was humid that night, and she felt that the makeup she'd applied earlier had been a little too liberal for the increasingly warm nights in the city). After she rinsed her face with a bar of soap that she found on the edge of the creamy white bathtub (it smelled tangy and woodsy, like juniper and cedar), she took a moment in the bathroom just to stare at her reflection in the mirror.

She remembered a similar night, several years ago when she was in her mid-twenties, when she'd gone to Jefferson's apartment for the first time. They had been dating for a little while, a month maybe, and the time had finally come when he invited her over. They'd had dinner, and she needed a moment after her long day of work, then their hours-long dinner and after-dinner coffee at a restaurant, to freshen up. Jefferson had been the first man she'd ever been with following Daniel, and just before facing him that night, she'd felt like she was embarking upon her sexual awakening all over again. Sure, she'd had plenty of experience with Daniel… but until that very moment in his unfamiliar apartment, she had underestimated what a strange feeling it would be to be on the cusp of a night with someone completely different.

Indeed, different had been the key word with Jefferson. Even on dates early on during their time together, he had been so far removed from Daniel's charming, sweet, wholesome self. Jefferson had been erratic, telling silly jokes, debating politics one second and talking about cartoons the next, asking her to join him on impromptu road trips and taking her on dates to places as diverse as the carnival one week, the theatre or a ballet the next. What if he were completely different in bed as well? What if he liked… different things? Things she didn't know. Or somehow it just… maybe he wouldn't enjoy her, the way Daniel had? Or … perhaps, she wouldn't enjoy him, and it would be disappointing and then… then…

_Then what?_ She'd asked herself, narrowing her eyes. So what if it was going to be awful. She'd move on. She'd live. One more life experience.

She finally left the bathroom (and her nerves) behind, and was relieved to discover that Jefferson, as unique as he was at work, and even on their dates, was the perfect calm, comfortable gentleman in the bedroom. Suave, even… yes, suave. That's how she'd describe it. They instantly were at ease with each other that night, melting into something at once sophisticated but comfortable. Not quite the carefree, youthful way she'd experienced sex with Daniel when she was with him, but with Jefferson, she gradually learned they were both more seasoned and confident, and eventually, braver.

They'd had fun. They got urgent, and messy, tangling sheets and pillows ending up all over the floor. Over time, before their romance had died out, they found they liked to watch each other, in the throes of passion, keeping their eyes wide open, Jefferson watching her breasts bounce as he thrust into her, then Regina perched on top of him, studying his face as it contorted with pleasure as she rode him. She'd discovered that she liked new things, new positions, new ways of experiencing pleasure; Jefferson would tease her for ages, forcing her pleasure to move towards the edge but not quite tumble over until she was writhing in the agony of the sensations that he coaxed out of her, pleading with him to let her go. But to Regina's great relief, the foundation of it all - every night and every morning, on the fringes of the nighttime madness - had been a space where they were both comfortable, and polite, and nice.

..•..

This time, Regina wasn't nervous. She finished up in the bathroom: she rinsed her face, adjusted her hair and the straps of her dress in the mirror, checked that her cleavage was peeking temptingly up over the neckline of her dress (she assumed the dress would be off soon enough, but it didn't hurt to make sure it looked as appealing as possible now).

She wanted Robin. She had for weeks.

It was with all of that confidence, then, that Regina strode over to Robin, who waited by the window, gazing absently out into the deep night in the city, and pressed herself against him.

Their kisses were filled with urgency, and this time, in the privacy of his apartment, they allowed their hands to wander freely, exploring each other. Robin traced the curve of the side of her torso, then down to her thigh, back up again, passing his hand into the small of her back to ease her closer to him. Meanwhile, she allowed her hands to appreciate his biceps, solid through the sleeves of his thin sweater, then they roamed lower, and she could feel the tight strain of his ass.

Minutes later they found themselves on the couch and he gradually began to move his hands higher, higher up her thigh, behind the fabric of her dress… as he did so, she playfully tugged off his sweater, smiling (giggling, even?) ever so slightly as it briefly got caught on her bracelet, which she quickly unclasped and set on the table nearby.

There was more kissing, more exploring. Still fully clothed, Robin was on his back, and Regina was on top. She gently positioned herself on top of him, then, and as they continued to kiss, his hands weaving through her hair, she felt him, gradually growing semi-hard, underneath her.

Her eyes were soft, half-closed, as she enjoyed the sensation. There was only the dim light cast from the street outside, and one small light filtering in from the kitchen that he'd clicked on when they'd arrived. In the darkness, he murmured into her ear. "I want to see you without this dress."

"But I want to look at you, too," she countered, her voice heavy with lust, and moving into action, she wrapped her arms around his back and urged him to move up, slightly. He did, curving his torso, and she gently eased his plain t-shirt off, revealing his toned chest.

"Fair's fair," he murmured in a low voice. "Now you." He reached behind her and found a tiny zipper and quickly pulled it down all the way. He then fumbled a bit with her dress - it had gone slightly askew, and it would be hard to coax off. She stood up, and he sat up attentively, gaze not leaving her. She allowed the dress to slip down her frame and drop to the floor, landing with a soft pat and the sound of the zipper rattling slightly as it skidded on the hardwood floor.

He was siting up now, and she straddled his lap, kissing him again on the lips. As they sank into another deep kiss, she reached back and unsnapped the clasp of her bra. She let that fall down one arm, then she shook it off.

Robin paused long enough to admire the smooth, creamy skin she'd revealed for him. His expression grew serious as he took one nipple in his mouth, gently between his teeth, and his tongue danced along it for a moment. Then, another. Regina allowed her head to fall back, reveling in the sensation, a lusty moan of approval escaping her lips.

"Lie on your back," he instructed a few moments later, and she obliged him, as he gingerly repositioned her so she was underneath him now. He took a moment to remove his pants, then underwear, and she did the same with her remaining undergarment, their final pieces of clothes getting lost somewhere on the dark floor. He then gently eased himself over her, continued to kiss her, deep kisses filled with promise, while his hands wandered further and further down, towards the deep longing that was slowly growing unbearable.

The angle he'd arranged her in forced her to relax and enjoy the sensations as one finger, then two, slipped into her depths where she'd grown wet. She only had a moment to wonder if she was being too selfish, whether he wished she were doing something for him, before he slipped a third finger into her, and all thoughts escaped her as she was lost in the sensations of him coaxing out the most delicious sensations. She allowed the feelings to wash over her for a few moments, but before she knew it, his fingers were replaced with him, filling her slowly, and she relaxed when she saw the unadulterated pleasure on his face as he softly gazed down at her, first focusing on her face, but then her breasts as they moved with his gentle, easy thrusts.

The two of them stayed like that for several minutes, moving slowly, savoring each other, every once in a while their eyes meeting, but not saying a word. Fingers wound through hair, eyes searched one another, faces betrayed when the perfect sensation flowed through their bodies, or as stray fingers touched overly sensitive, fiery skin that was blooming with sweat.

After a while, they shifted. The friction on Regina's clit and the feeling as he thrust into her, deep inside, had been rewarding her with building pressure. Regina eventually urged him onto his back and then perched on top of him, enjoying the sensations as she leaned back, and forward, and then back again, finding the sweet spots, the ones that made her get lost in everything, then popping open her eyes and urging his hands to explore her breasts, leaning forward so his teeth and tongue could as well, enjoying the expressions on his face as he, too, reacted to the sensations of being buried deep within her.

They relished in the time together as long as they could, but eventually their movements became more frantic, more purposeful. At one point, the rhythm was perfect for Regina and she could no longer hold off any longer… a burst of pleasure coursed through her, filling her with warmth from head to toe, leaving her breathless. He followed suit a minute or two later, breathing heavily, relishing the moment.

Afterwards, they were silent for a few minutes, both lying on their back, staring at the dark ceiling. Then, Regina smiled, and reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it.

He squeezed back.

..•..

Regina was glad she hadn't rushed off the next morning. The pastries were excellent. As was the coffee, for that matter. They ate their small breakfast happily, chatting about the day ahead. Their time that morning felt comfortable and surprisingly domestic.

"What time do you have to get back home?" Robin asked finally, after they'd chatted about silly things from their favorite pastries to comparing morning rituals (Regina's was brushing her teeth after drinking her coffee; for Robin, it was taking a walk in the early morning sunlight, although he admitted he didn't always do that as he was prone to sleeping a bit late).

"I have an interview this afternoon, I have to meet someone downtown at two," she said with a sigh. "And of course, I need to get back to Henry."

Robin glanced up at the clock. "It's not even nine yet. If -" he reached for her hand, and kissed the back of it, then turned it around, and kissed her wrist, looking up at her with mischievous eyes "- you can stay just a bit longer, I will make sure that at you are very well rested and prepared to face the rest of your day."

"Oh, how chivalrous of you to make sure that I am well _rested_…" she answered skeptically.

"…and relaxed…" he muttered as his kisses trailed from her wrist up to the sensitive inner part of her arm.

"Right, your intention is merely to ensure that I am well _relaxed_…" she repeated softly, her breath quickening as she became distracted by his movements, her body responded to the feeling of his lips on her skin.

"It won't take long. Or it could, if you want. I can be very accommodating," Robin muttered, continuing to kiss sensitive skin.

Regina swallowed. "Luckily for you, I am still a little sleepy."

Robin stopped his kisses, stood up and took her hand, pulling her up with him. "Then off to bed with you, darling."

..•..

It was hard to focus after she emerged from Robin's apartment an hour and a half later. She was lost in a bit of a haze, her memories of the night (and the morning) threatening to overtake her thoughts, which needed to focus back on work.

As she walked down the corridors underground to the metro, her legs still the slightest bit wobbly, her mind a little bit fuzzy, she willed herself to focus. She needed to get home, to change, and to talk to Emma and make sure everything had gone well with Henry last night and that he had gotten off to school okay. Then, she needed to hop on the metro again, for her interview with the politician for the fashion profile feature. She was supposed to meet her at her offices at two.

Hours later, after a whirlwind trip home, a talk with Emma, then another ride into a different part of the city on the metro, Regina found herself in an elegant waiting room to meet Madame Vallin. When the woman emerged from a hall and introduced herself, Regina admired how she was impeccably dressed in a relatively plain black pants and blazer, a cream-colored blouse that contrasted with her honey-brown skin, several delicate gold necklaces layered at her throat, and her long brown hair falling in shiny waves over her shoulders.

"Hello, Madame Vallin?" Regina said, standing up to greet her warmly.

"Please, call me Marion," the woman said to Regina in heavily-accented English, sticking out her hand. "Follow me, there is a small salon that we can talk in," she said, guiding Regina into a room with deep wood panelling and fresh-cut flowers arranged in a blue vase.

Although the article was focused on fashion, Regina began asking her about her work, her laws that sought to help women and children (some of her top issues), like longer maternity leaves for women or laws that helped families who wanted to immigrate to France. Their discussion led from one thing to the next, conversation flowing easily as the two professional women talked and compared notes.

They got along splendidly, speaking a mixture of French and English (Marion spoke English quite well, Regina discovered), and the time flew. Regina had said she would not take more than a half hour for her interview, so at the thirty minute point she thanked her for her time, and the two shook hands warmly.

As Regina left the imposing building and walked in the warm afternoon sun to the metro a few blocks away, Robin still fresh on her mind from that morning, she thought of how Roland's mother was named Marion and she wondered if she would ever meet her.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello everyone! Here we go... the story continues, and we're heading into finding out more about the mysterious Robin. As always, thanks for your kind comments and reviews! - Ana_

* * *

><p>The next week brought good news: Regina's editor approved of her idea for a biweekly piece called "Saturday Mornings in Paris: How I Fell in Love in (and with) Paris." Even though the articles wouldn't exactly be a word-for-word account of her dating life with Robin, she planned to share some of her newfound insights into dating in the world's most romantic city. Of course, in keeping with the fashion theme of her publication, it would also focus on what she wore on the dates and outings as she fell in love.<p>

Despite the sappiness of the concept, Regina found herself smiling as she typed away late into the night, enjoying the process of describing her experiences dating as a 30-year-old with a kid (writing on topics like "how to manage to flirt at a museum with your kids in tow"). "Sex and the City" it was not: it was romantic, but real. She enjoyed mingling the aspects of romance, and sophistication that dating in Paris entailed, with the more relatable realities of juggling children and life, sometimes in just a little bit of her trademark sassy way.

The words flowed easily.

Meanwhile, as she walked Henry to and from school each morning and afternoon, she relished in the increasingly warm days, the long sunny hours stretching later and later into the night. Since the evenings were so long, she and Henry began eating dinner outside on a small bistro table and chairs on their tiny, narrow terrace: simple meals, sandwiches with crusty bread and fresh salads with tangy dressing, pastas, cold meats, enjoying the hum of the city and the patch of sky, framed by cream-colored buildings, that would slowly transform from light blue to pastel pink to deep indigo as the sun set.

"You seem happy, mom," Henry observed one evening as they sat outside and finished their simple dinner of pasta in a fresh tomato and basil sauce.

Regina smiled at him warmly. "You think so?"

He nodded eagerly.

"And how are you feeling, Henry? Is school okay this week?"

He nodded a little less enthusiastically. "It's okay. When are we going to see Robin again?"

"Oh, you'd like to see him again?"

"Yeah. He's nice. I want him to show me more places."

"We could probably arrange an outing with him sometime."

More than once, she thought of inviting Robin to join them for an evening meal, but decided against it… she wasn't sure she was ready for him to be a regular fixture in the apartment, especially since Henry was still only gradually warming up to their new life.

It had, however, crossed her mind that Henry lacked male figures in his life at the moment. Ever since they moved so far away from her father and Daniel's father, he'd been surrounded by her, and Emma, and his teachers at school, who were all women. So, there _could_ be some benefits to having Robin spend more time around him.

She was conflicted.

"Where do you want Robin to take you?" asked Regina. "If he joined us again some weekend?"

Henry considered that for a moment. "Maybe more museums. I like seeing stuff about knights and the kings and queens."

Regina raised her eyebrows. So, he liked how Robin rambled on about educational things. Quite a shift from Henry's usual interests of video games and books.

"Well, I'll talk to him about it. How about that?"

..•..

Robin and Regina saw each other again twice within the next week. Regina didn't want to leave Henry with Emma again… she was conscientious about the fact that Emma might not want to babysit him too often. Even though Regina compensated her well for her time, she was careful not to overstay her welcome, so to speak. So, she and Robin agreed to meet both times at lunch, while Henry was at school.

Of course, what "lunch" really meant was that they met each other outside a cafe, both pretending that they were about to enjoy a nice and civilized meal together.

But in reality, eating lunch was the very last thing on their minds.

Instead, both times they ended up not getting a table in a cafe and instead quickly walked back to Regina's flat. Once they didn't even make it that far before their hands were all over each other, as she coaxed him against the side of a building on a narrow side street and kissed him soundly in a patch of mid-day sun on the sidewalk, the sound of cars and motorbikes buzzing on the road behind them.

Once in her apartment, clothes were quickly shed. On the first of their lunchtime _rendez-vous_, not all of their clothes made it off in time: Robin pulled off his shirt while Regina unbuttoned her long-sleeved blouse, but before she could take the shirt all the way off and unfasten her bra, Robin had pulled the lacy undergarment aside and freed a breast so he could cover it with open-tongued kisses and gently nibble on her nipple, creating a hard peak.

He'd gently laid her down on the couch, and as she fumbled with his pants, snaking her hand inside to solidly grasp and gently move her hand up and down the length of him, he was edging up her tight black skirt, finally pulling it up along her waist. Her hand was forced to let go of him as he moved down to the end of the couch, lavishing open-mouthed kisses on her belly as his head moved lower, and lower, until finally, his tongue gently dipped into her, gently at first and then firmly lapping up her desire. Her eyelashes fluttered shut and she relaxed into the sofa, reveling in the sensations.

After bringing her to pleasure by carefully observing her every reaction and low, lusty moan, his tongue licking and teasing and dancing around her most sensitive areas as he learned what she liked most, he guided her onto her stomach, a soft down throw pillow tucked underneath her belly. She reached behind and helped as he guided himself into her. They started at a slow pace, but it quickly developed into a more urgent rhythm. Their hearts racing and breathing heavy, they both relished the quick and satisfying encounter.

Their second lunchtime meeting was a bit less frantic, and they both took their time, lavishing each other with attention: first Regina, taking him into her mouth and enjoying his reactions, groaning and reacting to her attention with pleasure. While she worked, his hands massaged her head, fingers snaking through the strands of her hair, and every once in a while his hands gently guided her to indicate what he liked most. He nearly came, but instead pulled back, whispering "not yet," and moved to position her in place so he could return the favor: she sat down, leaning back, legs straddling his shoulders as he teased and licked and circled and eased his tongue in and out, all around her, until she climaxed with a heavy moan and sigh. After a few beats, she urged him onto his back and positioned herself on top of him, and after a few blissful minutes, he came as well.

..•..

Regina had to force herself back to work both afternoons, after lying blissfully naked with Robin for a while, he brushing his fingertips along her soft skin, she nuzzling her nose into his neck, lavishing his jawbone with kisses. Time seemed to stop when they were together.

But unfortunately… it didn't really. Both afternoons, they'd spent far too long with each other, and had to wash up, scramble back into clothes and return to work. (Regina always sent Robin off with a small snack at least, knowing that their physical exertions likely made him hungry… one day she had sent him with a few cold cuts, some cheese and a bit of bread, the other day she'd sent him with some fruit and a small container of gazpacho.)

She had to then sit down and concentrate on her work. Oddly, the encounters with Robin seemed to help her creative process, if anything, once she got her mind to focus on the words in front of her. She managed to write more than usual those afternoons, motivated by pressing deadlines and the desire to be able to pick up Henry after school and give him her undivided attention in the evenings, helping him with his French homework, reading him stories, supervising his consumption of television and video games.

As the week drew to a close, Regina wondered if Robin would want to go on a date that weekend, and if so, what they might do. Perhaps they could plan something with Henry.

On Thursday, he texted her and let her know that he had convinced Marion to let him have Roland for the weekend. He was planning two days of visiting museums, parks, buying him ice cream… and would Henry and Regina like to join them on Sunday for an outing?

Regina quickly accepted the invite, and Henry seemed pleased by the plan as well. On Saturday, she planned a low-key day with Henry to allow him to relax and recharge. The day was threatening to rain, and heavy dark clouds hung in the sky. Despite the ominous weather, they went to a park nearby (two bright red umbrellas in tow), and she was watching him swing on a playground when she received a text from Robin.

Glancing at her phone, she figured it would be one of his daily messages he sent her, asking how she was, or sending a flirty little note.

Instead, it was a much more frantic message.

_Are you there? Could you give me a ring?_

She called him back immediately.

"What is going on?" she asked, keeping an eye on Henry as he continued to swing.

"It's Roland," he said. "He's sick with an ear infection… he'd been getting over a cold this week but was fine when his mother dropped him off last night. I took him to see a doctor earlier, but it is going to take a few hours before I can go get the medicine. He needs a special kind of antibiotic since he's allergic to some of the common ones. I don't know what to do for him while I wait. Then, how am I going to take a little boy in pain with me back out to the pharmacy?"

"Hold on," Regina replied calmly, noting the urgency in his voice. It was unusually frantic for the normally steadfast Robin.

"Henry had ear infections all of the time when he was little. It will be okay. Can you give him a children's Tylenol - or whatever brand they have here - to ease the pain while you wait for the medicine?"

"I already did."

"Okay. So put on some music, or a movie, or tv, to distract him, make sure he's comfortable, sit with him, that's all you can do. Where is his mother? She should know about all of this," Regina said, biting her lip nervously. _What was the protocol for giving advice to her boyfriend about his child who had another mother, anyways?_

"That's the thing. She's on a business trip this weekend. She went to the south of France and I can't get a hold of her to let her know. Her mobile has gone straight to voicemail all morning."

"Well, keep trying, she should know what's going on. In the meantime, why don't Henry and I head over to your place? We can sit with Roland while you go get the medicine."

"Would you do that? I'm sorry to bother you both…"

"It's not a problem. We can be at your place in an hour?"

"Thank you," he said, his voice flooding with relief.

…

Regina had figured it was a good idea to pick up some food on the way to Robin's house. Who knows if he was taking care of himself through the ordeal, and perhaps Roland would need some nourishment as well, if it appealed to him. They bought bread and meats, cheeses and Regina even managed to find a warm chicken soup even though soup was a little out of season (many of the cafes and markets had switched to cold summer cucumber and melon or tomato and basil soups).

They arrived at Robin's an hour later, Henry armed with books and a bag of gummy candy that he insisted on bringing for Roland to make him feel better, Regina armed with nourishment and support.

"Thank you for coming," Robin said again as she and Henry walked into the apartment. Regina had only seen it at night, and was surprised at how bright it was. It was spartan, every bit a bachelor's pad, but she noticed the couch had unfolded into a sleeper sofa, and Roland was laying down on a soft pile of clean white sheets and pillows.

"He's sleeping now, finally," Robin said. She noted the dark circles under his eyes.

Regina moved towards the kitchen to unpack. "Come," she urged to him gently. "Let's have some lunch. You probably haven't eaten all day."

"You'd be right about that," Robin said, sighing.

He looked less put-together than usual, his hair mussed and his clothes slightly wrinkled. But as he at the food that Regina brought, he began to perk up.

The three of them ate companionably, Henry animatedly telling Robin about a book he was reading. As Robin relaxed slightly, he engaged with Henry in a lively debate about which sci-fi franchise was the best (Henry liked Star Wars, Robin was a fan of Star Trek and Dr. Who), and Regina moved around Robin's small kitchen, rinsing a few dishes and putting some of the food she'd bought back in the fridge, hoping that Robin and Roland would find it for dinner later.

Later in the afternoon, Robin received a call from the pharmacy informing him that Roland's medicine was ready, and so he left to go pick it up (it was a bit far away). He took Henry with him (Henry wanted the outing and since he was getting antsy in the small apartment, Regina let him go).

While they were gone, Roland had woken up once, taken a small bit of warm soup from a bowl that Regina heated up for him, and then fell back to sleep. Regina sat next to him with her feet up on the pull-out sofa and worked on a few work emails on her phone in the silent apartment, late-afternoon sun filtering cheerfully through the tall windows. A few times, she heard Robin's phone ping in the kitchen; he must have forgotten it. But he would be back soon.

About twenty-five minutes after Robin left, there was a knock on the door. Regina gingerly stood up, hoping that her movement and the sound wouldn't wake Roland, and opened the door.

There was a woman there, with long brown hair that curled on the ends.

Regina instantly recognized her.

It was Marion Vallin, the politician she'd interviewed the other day for the fashion profile.

The two women stared at each other for a moment, their mouths dropping slightly.

Finally, Marion spoke. "What are you doing here?" she asked in French.

"I should ask you the same!" Regina replied, likewise in French. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes. I'm here to see my son."

..•..

Marion's face grew dark with the knowledge that a strange woman (or rather, not entirely strange, but a stranger nonetheless) was alone with her son. She rushed into the apartment, checked on Roland, her hand brushing against his forehead as she lifted him up in her arms. His eyelashes fluttered open, and he muttered a "mama."

Regina explained the situation as calmly as possible: Robin had taken him to the doctor that morning, and had just left to get the special medication he needed. As Marion pressed a groggy Roland against her chest, a soothing hand brushing his forehead and rubbing his back, she explained that she had been in town on a business trip but as soon as she'd heard Robin's message she took an earlier high-speed train back, and got here as soon as she could.

"But that doesn't explain who you are - I mean, I know who you are, you're that American fashion journalist, but why the hell are you with my son?" Marion pressed.

"I've been dating Robin, for a few weeks. He didn't know what to do when -" Regina almost said 'when he couldn't reach you,' but decided that wouldn't be the best psychology at the moment "- when Roland got sick. I simply offered to come over and sit with him for a while, and sit with Roland so he wouldn't have to take him all the way out to the pharmacy and back."

"He should have told me he was leaving a stranger with Roland," she snapped back.

"I… well, I agree with you," Regina said, her nerves rising but willing herself to continue to speak as calmly as possible. "I have a son, too, I wouldn't like this situation. But he was thrown off, he didn't know what to do with a sick Roland, and I think - I think he meant the best."

Marion huffed out a breath but didn't reply.

"Did you know that he is my son?" She asked Regina bitterly, looking at Roland. "Before - you know, you interviewed me?"

"I didn't," Regina shook her head. "I'm as surprised as you. It's pure coincidence that I chose you for this profile. I saw an article about you in the paper, and… well that's all, really. Robin had told me Roland's mother's name was Marion, but it's not exactly an uncommon name."

As Regina explained the situation, it dawned on her that it probably wasn't a complete coincidence, now that she thought of it. The paper Robin had been reading had been open to a page with an article about her on it. Of course. He would have noticed her in the paper, wanted to read about her… must be easy to stay in the loop about the mother of your child when she's a prominent public figure.

"Robin is ridiculous for not telling me about you," muttered Marion. "And leaving you with my son… even for just a few minutes."

"I was only trying to help," she stated simply, crossing her arms.

"You might want to be careful with Robin, you know," Marian said in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" Regina looked back at her.

"Has he told you anything about his past?"

Regina hesitated, then shook her head. "Not a lot of it. I know he volunteered a bit in London, before moving here…"

Marion laughed and rolled her eyes. "Right. _Volunteered_. More like ordered to do community service."

What? Regina thought to herself, but she didn't say it out loud. She felt herself stiffen, and hugged her crossed arms closer to her. She felt her jaw stiffen, her face go solid, icy.

"Ah, so he hasn't told you about his colorful past," Marion said, warm brown eyes studying her reaction. "If he had, you would know why I am so suspicious of you, and leaving my son with him in general, for that matter."

Regina just swallowed and looked back at her with a stoic gaze, unsure where to take this conversation. Should she ask her anything more? She just seemed so…angry.

Just then, the sound of Robin and Henry returning drifted in from the hallway. They both turned to watch the door. Behind it, Regina could hear Robin and Henry talking about something. Robin laughed animatedly as he stuck the key in the door and turned it, rattling the old wooden door open.

As he stepped into the room, clutching a small white paper bag in his hand, his laughter faded as he saw Regina and Marion sitting together with Roland. His expression fell momentarily, and a look of concern crossed his face, before he smiled again, as a look of relief took over.

"Marion! You're back."

"I am," she said, gracefully standing up, still holding Roland close to her, who had woken up and was whimpering slightly, groggily looking back and forth between his mother and father.

Regina uncrossed her arms. She grabbed her purse off of the table next to the couch.

"We should go, Henry," she suggested, her voice firm, motioning to him to gather his things.

On their way out, Regina simply threw a cold glance at Robin and muttered a "goodbye", then gave a polite smile to Marion. "I hope Roland feels better soon."

She ushered Henry out of the apartment before either one of them could say anything more to her, and they returned home.

..•..

Late that night, after she'd tucked Henry in for bed, armed with a glass of red wine, Regina did what she should have done long ago, but thought it was too paranoid and silly to actually do when you are first dating someone you trust: she Googled Robin. She had searched for him online quickly once before, but abandoned her research before long, not finding too much to speak of. This time, she spent longer searching for clues about his past. But still, she found surprisingly little about him (most of it was work-related, things connected to his current job, like corporate directories and professional social media profiles) and certainly nothing about him from more than 2-3 years ago.

And then, somewhere on a website related to the computer engineering industry in which he worked, he was listed as "Robin Dubois Locksley."

_Locksley_.

So, Robin hadn't told her his full name.

With trembling hands, she typed in "Robin Locksley" to the search engine this time, and finally found far more background information about the elusive man.

..•..

A few days later, after Regina had cooled off and grew tired of brushing off Robin with 1-2 word replies to his texts, Regina asked Robin if he wanted to meet her for lunch.

"A **real** lunch this time," she wrote pointedly in a text.

He agreed, and they met at a cafe, on another warm, grey day, clouds hanging heavily in the sky, making the normally bright city buildings look duller than usual.

"So, Robin Locksley." Regina said, after they'd settled in at a small table outdoors under a wide awning along a quiet side street, and had ordered the table d'hôte.

The waiter had brought them both glasses of sparkling water, and she took a delicate sip before asking, "Can you tell me about that time you went to prison?"


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: You all are probably not going to be super thrilled about this chapter, but I promise much better times are ahead for our lovely couple, so hang in there. I've already drafted the next few chapters and I'll try to get them up as soon as possible. :) _

_I also feel compelled to note that I have been really saddened by the real-life events in Paris lately. My thoughts are with the people of Paris and in France during these difficult times._

_- Ana_

* * *

><p>"Where, exactly, do you want me to begin?" He asked her, eyeing her carefully, with desire and frustration and a hint of nerves. She'd been giving him the cold shoulder for days now, and he hadn't known why.<p>

At least he knew why now.

_Ugh_, if only he'd told her more sooner… clearly, she'd run across something from his past that made him sound worse than he actually was.

Or maybe he was worse. He didn't know. She probably was too good for him. Part of him had known that all along… and so here it was, finally. His past had caught up to him.

He just wanted things back to normal.

"Just tell me who you are, Robin," sighed Regina impatiently. "From the beginning. Enough of this mystery man who has random friends who used to be bums in London, or the man who crashes in random apartments in Paris. Tell me who you really are."

"It's really not all that exciting," he grumbled, though shifted nervously, eyeing her carefully.

"Good. But I still want to know."

He sighed, and began.

..•..

As a young boy, Robin had had a comfortable life. His parents clearly took care to give him everything he needed: a house, larger than most had, a prestigious private school education, fine and tidy clothes and opportunities to play cricket and rugby, lessons to play the cello and guitar, summer camps where he mastered archery, summer trips to Continental Europe.

"You will be someone someday, son," his father had told him, dressing him in suits and ties and taking him with him to social events, dinners, introducing him to his friends' sons, who were similarly as bored and unimpressed by the fancy events as the young Robin was.

His parents had both come from humble backgrounds near the area of York, England: his mom had been a teacher before she'd met his father, and his father had worked a number of odd jobs from car repairman to office clerk until he finally started a small business selling rare car parts online in the early days of the Internet.

That business idea had paid off. As a teenager, Robin watched his parents grow wealthy… and with it, increasingly self-centered. They began to pay for elaborate vacations to the Maldives or the Caribbean, sometimes taking him, other times leaving him behind with his stuffy old Great Aunt Berta. They sent him to a better private school in town, more prestigious than the humble village school he'd attended as a child outside of the city of York. At the private school, the other boys ostracized him for wearing his hair the wrong way or speaking with a an accent that wasn't acceptable (it was one that he'd inherited from his days growing up in the country and listening to his mother's native Irish lilt).

He began to feel increasingly isolated from everyone: his parents and his elite prep school peers alike, and although he fit in with his school's rugby team and briefly tried to start a band with a few friends from his old school, he eventually was given a computer for Christmas… and he sat at home, alone, and taught himself to code.

"As I entered my teenage years," explained Robin to Regina over their lunch of salmon on a bed of arugula and lemon dressing, "I became really good at coding. It was something I loved to do. I started feeling like I could only be included by friends I'd met online. Some were great, brilliant geniuses. Others were also brilliant, but maybe not the most… well, responsible about it. We started to play around, for fun at first, hacking websites, not doing anything that bad. But at the same time, I was watching my father get rich off of these web-based businesses, and he began to use his earnings to invest in other businesses that had been started or funded by his new posh circle of friends, and eventually, I discovered that my group of online friends and I… we could hack into their websites."

"Again, we did nothing at first, it just felt like an achievement to be able to infiltrate this stuffy old businessman's website, you know? Like, as kids, we finally had power over these people because we knew a thing or two about computers." He shifted in his seat, waving his hand absently. "I was fourteen, maybe fifteen at the time. Some kids do dumb stuff like drink or run off to foreign countries and get laid… I was coding recklessly, and hacking."

Regina lifted her eye brows. "I have to admit, I really wasn't expecting you to say that's how you rebelled. By being an incredible computer nerd. So, how did you wind up in jail?"

"It doesn't happen overnight," Robin said, taking a sip of sparkling water and pausing as a couple sat down at a table next to them. "One Christmas, I learned that one of my father's friends worked at this bank. So I was off of school for a while, had a lot of time, so my online friends and I, we decided to see if we could hack into that site. And you know what? It was a bank and everything, but we did it, by hacking the list of usernames and passwords and being able to log into the account."

"So you were playing with fire by then," Regina commented.

Robin nodded. "That winter, my father was saying I should have more responsibility, so I wouldn't spend my whole time just wasting away on the computer. He said that this very friend had a job opening, needed a student to do some extra work with the computers at the bank. Nothing major, just some upkeep of their machines, and a bit of routine data entry at a local branch. I could get experience, learn a few things. My dad forced me to take the job."

Robin paused, finished the last of the salmon and salad on his plate, then continued. "I was resentful, as all teenagers probably are when their parents force them to do something that takes them away from what they enjoy doing most - in my case, sitting around, hacking into websites and not doing much. But at the bank, I had access to more… resources, should I say? And I figured out, with the assistance of these other kids I met online, how to get in and transfer small bits of money, here and there, from one account to another."

"Don't have banks have better security than that?" Regina said.

"Remember that it was the earlier days of the internet, back in the 90s, security wasn't quite as sophisticated as now, and online banking, and working at a branch, there were back end ways for me to obtain what I wanted."

"Okay," Regina said. "So let me guess, you started stealing money?"

Robin shrugged. "Basically. We stole small amounts, here and there, only from the banks' customers that I knew had tons of money and would never notice anything missing. And the excitement wasn't getting the money, but the process of getting it. I had no need for the money; my parents had enough money, and gave me everything I needed or wanted. I didn't want this money that I stole, I wanted to have the perverse pleasure of taking it."

"I see. So, then you were caught?" Regina guessed.

He shook his head and laughed slightly. "Not right away. The excitement wore off quickly, to be honest. And we could have probably stopped, and moved on, and maybe I would have never gotten in trouble. But one night I was walking home from work later than usual 'cause I'd stopped at a pub with friends, and I got mugged. It was nasty; I was punched in the gut, and in the eye, and these guys, just punks really, worthless scum, took my wallet. It wasn't a big deal, I could go home and cancel my cards, and I maybe only had 30 quid in the wallet. But I resented the feeling of being robbed, and it hurt."

"And you didn't see the irony in that?" Regina asked.

He laughed nervously. "I did. But the thing was, after I was punched and had the wind knocked out of me, I sat on the dark, dingy sidewalk for a bit, and then I noticed that there was this guy, not far from me, also doubled over, lying in a dark doorway. He was this kid, looked in terrible shape, and I asked him if he was ok, and what had happened, and he explained that the same group who'd mugged me had also nabbed him a little while before. And then there were just these tears streaming down his face-"

Robin paused, swallowing heavily, and took a sip of water. His face began to contort strangely, and Regina had the sudden realization that he was fighting the urge to cry.

She took a nervous bite of a piece of bread while she gave him a moment.

"Anyways," Robin said, choking back his thoughts, and continued in a quieter voice, "He told me the story of how the guys had stolen all of his earnings for the past two weeks. He'd just cashed his paycheck earlier that day, and was taking it home. And he needed that money. His whole family depended on him, his mom was sick and his two siblings, two younger sisters, depended on him for food and to pay the bills. He had been hurt by those meatheads who'd mugged him, yeah, but he had just stayed in that doorway, crying, not knowing how he'd go home and face his family and tell them they'd have no money for food for the next two weeks."

Robin took a deep breath. "So I took him home with me, my parents had gone on one of those big vacations, he slept on the couch, and the next morning I left for school, but not before I'd left an envelope filled with money in his pocket."

"I got home from work, and the envelope was still there on the couch. All the money still there. But he was long gone. Guess his pride didn't allow him to take it from me," he said, shrugging, shaking his head. "I spent days trying to locate him in that area, but nothing, no one knew him, the kid with a sick mother and two sisters. Never did find him, or his family. But I was angry. I spent weeks, just angry at it all, watching my parents enjoy their middle-class, 'nouveau riche' lifestyle, blowing their money on furniture and clothes and jewelry and trinkets and trips and dinners with their new friends… I was fuming. So I started stealing from the bank, from my father's rich friends' accounts… and I gave it away. To charities, food banks, anything that would help poor families like that guy's family."

"So. You're a regular modern-day Robin Hood," observed Regina in a quiet voice. "Stealing from the rich to give to the poor."

Robin dropped his eyes and shrugged.

"THen you were caught, and went to jail?" asked Regina.

"Not quite," Robin said.

"See, this is where you know that the world doesn't have any justice in it. Not really. So I was caught, eventually. But by my father's friend, the one who ran that bank branch. Knowing how the story would ruin my parents' beloved spot amongst the movers and shakers, he kindly agreed to keep it hushed up, as long as we paid him back. My father, bitterly angry, paid the amount of money I'd stolen then sent me off to another school, it was a boarding school. My parents seemed to think that would keep me on the straight and narrow: but it was worse."

Robin shook his head, remembering his first days at the prep school, filled with kids with trust funds and parents who vacationed in the Maldives, who had owned land for generations, fathers and grandfathers in government. He was a puny kid from a backwoods town, with parents who thought they were bigger than they really were. He spent the remainder of his high school years roaming the halls of some sort of hellish version of Hogwarts, with stern teachers and a cruel headmaster. Definitely no magic there.

He'd struggled not to be bullied: going from one class to another, boys would trip him, tease him because of his glasses (he wore contacts nowadays, but glasses back then), tease him for everything, he spent his days and nights ducking punches thrown by the boys who didn't like him. He was scrawny and scruffy, and tried ignoring everyone at first. After a while, he learned to swing back. He signed up for archery because he hoped it'd make him stronger, more intimidating. He started to work out, lifting weights, building muscle. But the boys didn't care. Those posh boys with their butlers when they went home, their cars and first class vacations… they couldn't care less that he was the best at archery in school, the smartest in class, quickly becoming one of the strongest, too. That only made it worse. They stole his clothes, shoes, books, hid them around the school. Mocked him when he got answers right when the teacher called on him, and mocked him worse when he (purposely) gave the wrong answers in class when the teacher called on him. He could do nothing right. He hated his classmates. Absolutely despised them.

"Months into that wretched prep school, I finally pulled together a small group of tech nerds, those who'd existed on the fringes of that elitist social group of that school. We managed to fly under the social radar eventually, which made my life better. We resumed our hacking activities. This time, our focus wasn't on stealing money, although we did that, too. Our main thing was infiltrating the school's records systems, messing with grades and stealing students' confidential information and files. Since I couldn't completely shake off some of those guys, I ended up trying to ruin their lives the only way I knew how - by screwing with their files. Unfortunately, online security had gotten better, and we made a few mistakes, didn't quite cover our tracks so to speak, and we were discovered, and of course expelled, and legal charges were pressed."

"So you were sent to jail for, essentially, standing up to bullies? And not that time you stole thousands of dollars from a bank?" Regina laughed, despite herself.

"Like I said, the world doesn't make sense," Robin said, rolling his eyes. "At any rate, I didn't exactly spend long locked away, but even my father's lawyers couldn't get me out of it completely. I spent two months there, and then was released a bit early for good behavior, still had to do community service. Which I quite enjoyed. That's when I worked in London, with Emma, and taught classes, and met people like Will. Needless to say, it was a much healthier - and far less illegal - way to channel my impulses for helping."

"Then what? How did you get back into computer engineering - considering your dubious history in the field?" asked Regina.

"Right. Well my father had a friend who had heard of my story. Although my story had made the local news at that point ('Prep School Hackers Land Themselves in Jail…' what a fun little story for my hometown newspaper, to properly shame my parents who had grown too big for their breeches), one of his friends was duly impressed at all of my criminal computer activities and he offered to hire me at his company to protect against idiots like me after I finished a bachelor's degree in computer engineering. So I went to school, studied engineering. Didn't love it, to be honest. By then, I had spent time in jail reading, and started to nurse this interest in history… but my parents coerced me into finishing my computer engineering degree, and I went off to work for my father's friend's company as promised, which is where I've been ever since. And no, these days I never do anything sketchy. Roland changed all that. It's not worth it. Instead, my job is all about keeping little gits like myself out of the system."

"So, your illegal activities nowadays are limited to squatting in apartments," Regina said tersely.

"I will never live that up, will I?" Robin asked her incredulously.

She laughed, despite the tension that hung in the air between them. "No. I'll stop. But going back to when we first met - why _did_ you have to crash in my apartment? Or, as I suppose it was then, Henry's grandparents' apartment? Especially if you had a good job. Emma said you were in a rough place, and I assumed that meant you were financially not well off."

He shrugged. "Whatever money I make that doesn't go to Marion and Roland, and Roland's savings accounts, I give away to some organizations, like that one I worked with in London, and some here as well, because I have never found that guy that was beaten up and mugged just before I was. But I like to imagine that somewhere along the line some of my money has found him, and helped him out. I hate to pay for an apartment for myself when I don't really _need_ one. When I know my money could go instead to a family, to buy their food, instead of to some wealthy real estate agency."

"But you rented an apartment recently."

"I guess there was no away around it. I was kicked out of the flat where I was squatting, by a beautiful woman," he looked over at her, his icy blue eyes meeting her deep chocolate ones.

They stopped talking then, digging into their small pots of crème caramel that had been brought to them by the waiter as the dessert.

"It's not wrong to take care of yourself, before you take care of others, you know," Regina said quietly.

He sighed. "I suppose. I just… don't want to. I don't want to rent an apartment one day, and become the greedy consumers my parents became after they fell into money."

"It sounds like your dad worked hard for his money," she pointed out.

"He did. But they forgot, so quickly, how hard it can be to make ends meet. They lost touch with reality, and they got swept up in the glamor of it all and forgot about... how to be real, and I just…" he sighed. "I just don't want to become them."

Regina reached for his hand. "I can see that. But you're not. At all."

He smiled at her and reached over to squeeze her hand.

"I wish you would have told me sooner," Regina said, still not over all of the revelations, pulling her hand away and sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking into her eyes and holding her gaze. "Truly."

"It was awkward, with Marion… I don't want it to be that way. I care for you. And Roland. And the last thing I want to do is make enemies with her."

"She said she liked the write-up you did about her. The article," he commented.

"Did you read it?"

He nodded, as the waiter arrived and cleared their plates. "I did. Although I do find it highly coincidental that of the millions of women in Paris, and in France, you decided to profile my ex."

"It was an article I saw in the newspaper, one day a few weeks ago, when we were having lunch. You must have been reading about her before I arrived."

Robin squinted, trying to remember. "Oh, right," he said, as it dawned on him. "I did. I mean, I was. I suppose I left the newspaper on the table. So that's how you learned of her?"

Regina nodded. "Yes. It's okay. I mean, at least we didn't start completely on the wrong foot, I think we have a good professional relationship. I just don't… want her to be uncomfortable with me being around her son."

He paused for a moment at that. "She's not. She was just stressed and upset the other day, and surprised to see you. I promise you, it's all blown over, and I'll be seeing Roland again soon enough."

Regina didn't say anything.

Robin looked over at her nervously. "And more importantly, what about us? Are you… how do you feel about all of this?"

Her deep eyes met his.

"Honestly? I don't know, Robin," she sighed.

"I know I shouldn't have kept all of that from you, at least not for so long," he said, dropping his eyes.

"I have a son. I have to think of him. I can't be … having strangers around him," she stammered.

"We're hardly strangers, Regina. We haven't been, especially these past two weeks," he said somewhat bitterly.

She shot him a glare. "We're strangers if there are important parts of your past that I don't know," she said bitterly, delicately wiping the corner of her mouth with the smooth cloth napkin, then setting it on the table, her lunch now complete.

Robin shifted uncomfortably. "Regina," he whispered in a low voice. "I had a ridiculous past, but ultimately, I have learned from it. I especially learned a lot from Marion, to be honest with you. She made me see life completely different. Then I really saw things in a new way when Roland was born. He's… everything to me."

Regina nodded, understanding the feeling. Henry was everything to her, after all. She wanted to protect him from things, too. But she especially wanted to protect him from people who didn't deserve to be in their lives.

"I should have known more than to get sidetracked by a man who broke into my apartment and kept things about his past from me."

"And yet, here you are," he said out after a moment.

She sucked in a breath. "Here I am."

She thought of Henry. About their little home. He deserved better. She didn't distrust Robin, not really, but his story had made her uneasy. He seemed too much like a wild card, too errant. Too risky. Too many unknowns for her and Henry right now.

Her expression grew solid, stoic. She blinked a few times, then looked at him.

"I all in. For a few weeks, I was into this, Robin. Truly. And thank you for being honest with me. But it's my responsibility to keep a stable life for Henry, and I must prioritize that. You understand."

"Regina, wait -" Robin began to protest, sensing where this was going.

She took another breath to steady her voice.

"No," she said gently. "Thank you… I… you made me believe in things, Robin, these past few weeks, that I didn't feel were possible again. And I really, really, do like you. You might have 'stolen' my apartment, but you also, well, you kind of stole my heart. But I'll need it back now. I need to care for my son, and focus on my work. You need to sort out things a little more, with Marion, and Roland, and your work. I'm sorry, but, I don't think we'll have any more lunches."

Robin looked at her, sadness in his eyes, looking as though he were choking back emotion that was bubbling to the surface. She expected him to protest, even whine, beg her to stay, but instead, he swallowed, nodded, his jaw setting firmly.

And she gained even more respect for him for not protesting. For letting her go.

He stood up as she stood up, brushed off her offer of money to pay for her half of the tab, insisting this one was on him, that he owed her that much at least. She stuck out her hand, and he shook it. He then hesitated briefly, but squeezed it a bit, and took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it gently.

Regina let her hand linger there for a moment, but eventually pulled it back. Without saying anything else, she left, departing into the busy city on that cloudy summer afternoon. He watched her go, walking for a block or two, until her figure was eventually obscured behind the other anonymous people walking along the sidewalk and he could no longer see where she was.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello, and once again I have to express my gratitude for all of your feedback for this story. I'm lucky to have found such a great group of readers!_

_Here is the next update, which I'd hoped to have up a few days ago. Unfortunately, I struggled with this chapter a bit because it's a turning point for our lovely couple. I got them into a mess, and it was time to get them out of it. But at the same time there is still a little more to come, so it's kind of transitioning them to a new point in their relationship. It was hard to know where this chapter started & ended, because it will flow right into the next one. Anyways, I won't give away too much more._

_This overall story will probably wrap up in around 2-3 more chapters._

_I hope you enjoy._

* * *

><p>"You're not happy, mom," Henry said one morning on their walk to school. Henry's summer program would be ending soon. It was nearly July, and the air had turned hot, and heavy. It was time, Regina knew, for him to have a break from the coursework, the homework, the endless French lessons on conjugation, vocabulary, sentence structure. He needed to be a kid again.<p>

"What makes you say that?" Regina asked, raising her eyebrows as she took a sip from her grande iced Americano (it felt too hot outside for her usual hot cafe au lait. The atmosphere was muggy, sticky, the city air thick with an early summer heaviness).

Her son shrugged, the early morning sun catching the golden highlights in his hair. "You don't talk to me as much while we're walking to school."

"I'm not unhappy. Just a little stressed about some work things."

"Maybe you should see Robin. He could take us somewhere and see something new."

"Henry… I don't know. It was nice getting to know Robin, but I am not sure he is right for our lives right now."

"What if I think he is?"

"Well, then I'd say I'm the adult, and I make the decisions," Regina replied cooly.

"You weren't like that a few weeks ago," Henry grumbled. "You used to be nicer when you were still friends with him."

"Henry, have a good day at school," Regina said sharply, relieved that they'd nearly arrived at the school.

Henry at least let go of the topic quickly, then gave her an unenthusiastic half-hug goodbye (he didn't want to be spotted by any of his classmates getting walked to school by his mom) before trotting the rest of the way to the entrance to the school. She waved even though he didn't glance back at her, then she lingered as he walked through the small gate that led into a small, green garden, with shrubs and purple and pink flowers in full, fragrant bloom. The morning light filtering between the buildings into the garden caught the tiny flecks of pollen floating in the air, and she stared a moment before blinking and turning to walk back home.

She was relieved that she didn't have to dwell on the topic of Robin with Henry (she assumed he would move on quickly. Quicker than she would, at least). Regina hadn't spoken to Robin since lunch that day, and although she half-hoped he might text her sometime, he never did, clearly respecting her wish to be alone. It gave her a strange sort of feeling. She wondered if she'd made a mistake? She rolled the events of their lunch, the conversation, her meetings with Marion, over and over in her mind.

But she didn't do anything about it.

..•..

If her romantic life had crashed and burned, the exact opposite had happened to her professional life. Her "Saturday Mornings in Paris" online series of blog articles was flourishing. Each post had more views and more shares on social media than the last.

That afternoon, while squinting at her computer screen and editing a piece by one of her writers, her phone buzzed. It was her editor, Viola, back in New York.

After a few brief pleasantries, Viola cut straight to the point, delivering some news with her crisp, clipped tone.

"Regina, I've discussed about the success of 'Saturday Mornings in Paris' with the editorial team here, and we have decided to start publishing expanded versions of those posts as articles in the magazine."

"It's going into the print edition?" Regina asked, jaw dropping slightly at the news.

"They're happy. Feel-good. Inspiring. What can I say, it seems to be what people want to read, so, yes, as I already said, we're putting them in print."

Regina thanked Viola and hung up the phone, humming with excitement. Minutes later, of course, it hit her that she was not _actually_ falling in love in Paris. Not anymore, at least. She bitterly acknowledged the irony. Her love life fails, her column - which she supposed would have to be somewhat fictional from now on - succeeds. She doubted her rapidly-growing readership would appreciate a sudden change in topic to reflect her current relationship status.

Buzzing with excitement and a hint of nerves and frustration, Regina slipped on a pair of comfy shoes and decided to go for a walk. On her way out, she ran into Emma, who was bounding up the stairs, hauling not one but two leather laptop bags with her.

"Well well, it's our resident reclusive author - haven't seen you around!" Emma said.

"I was just thinking the same about you," Regina said primly, giving her an obligatory cheek-kiss in greeting.

"What's with you?" Emma said, pulling back, studying her face through narrow, scrutinizing eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem down. Come, have a coffee with me."

"I have work."

"Please. You can spare a minute," Emma said, urging her into her apartment. Regina surrendered and followed her in to the sleek space, which was slightly tidier (only slightly) than the last time she'd been there, when Emma had been in the midst of exams.

"Your writing's pretty good," Emma said, moving towards the kitchen and firing up the cappuccino maker.

"You've read my work?"

"Might have. Had to finally look up what you spend all your time working on up there."

"I hope it was worth _your_ time," Regina laughed lightly.

"_Bien sûr_. I even found it inspirational."

"What do you mean?"

Emma stepped out of the kitchen, holding two small cappuccinos, grabbing a jar of fig and almond biscotti from a local shop, and bringing everything over to the small sitting area. Regina was already perched on the cozy, well-worn tobacco-brown leather armchair that Emma had said she'd thrifted. (She still owed Regina a trip to the flea market where she said she found it).

"I've been seeing someone."

"Really?" Regina raised her eyebrows and took a delicate bite of the biscotti.

"Yup," Emma nodded, taking a hearty sip of her cappuccino. "Met him in one of my classes last semester. Of course, we're nothing serious… neither of us has any time, you know, to do much more than relax and hang out. But we have a few moments here and there to have a little fun," she said, grinning.

"Lucky you," Regina said, the corner of her mouth tugging into a smile.

"Aw, come on, you can't complain. You've got Robin."

"Or not," she sighed.

"What?" Emma said, jaw dropping. "but… you're still writing your column… don't tell me you broke up with him?"

"At least I am a very convincing writer. Yes, we broke it off. About two weeks ago."

"What happened?'

"He told me a bit about himself, how he did many _irresponsible_ things when he was younger… hacked computers, went to jail, seemed to have a hard time patching his life back together after," she said, waving her hand around absently.

"Hmm. Okay, I didn't know all of that," Emma said, raising her eyebrows.

She seemed tempted to ask Regina more, but didn't.

"But that doesn't sound like the person he is now," Emma pointed out.

"I know. It's not. But it's just… the thought of it, you know? This guy who hid all of this… I don't want him around Henry. Henry was getting too attached to him, too dependent, even. It wasn't good," Regina said.

"Of course. _Henry_ was getting too attached to him."

Regina glared at her. "What do you mean?" She asked cooly.

"You know what I mean," Emma chided. "Still, what about his past was so bad?"

Regina shrugged. "It's a long story, I guess. He did some stupid things when he was young, he felt excluded, ignored, the usual sort of thing that drives people to do stupid things when they're still kids."

"But he's different now." Emma said, repeating herself.

"Yes." Regina conceded.

"So. I don't doubt you had your reasons for pulling back. I'm just saying, maybe you should have trusted your first intuition about him: the one that prompted you to start seeing him."

Regina didn't reply.

"Tell me about your significant other," Regina asked Emma, hoping to change the subject.

"Not too much to say. I don't actually see him a lot."

"Oh. How… romantic?" Regina said.

"He's smart, has great conversation, a loyal type of person, which feels rare. A lot of guys who I have seen in the past have a wandering eye, want to move on to the next thing too soon," Emma said, smiling to herself. "He seems a little bit more stable. Works a lot, but likes to go home at the end of the day instead of to a club. We don't go on any grand dates, there's no time. We just spend time together."

"It's nice to share things with someone else," said Regina.

"Yeah. Exactly." Emma said. "There's something to be said for having someone else to share things with… happy times, but also, you know, burdens, challenges."

Regina nodded. "I know what you mean. Listen to this… as my love life crashes and burns, I found out that my online column thing based on some of my dating life with Robin has done so well they want to publish it in the magazine now, too."

"Oh, that's great," Emma said.

"It is. I guess there's something to be said for something working out. Even though I will have a bit of a shortage of personal experience to draw on for it from now on."

"If you need any advice, let me know. I've dated all over this city, and I can probably think of a few ideas to help you out. But you don't have to think that you can only write about finding love while actually being _in_ love - everything here is about seeing, experiencing, growing. And love isn't just for another person, either: there are plenty of other things to love about this city. Part of dating, anyways, is just figuring out who you are."

"Yes," Regina said. "I suppose it is."

"And being in a city like this - surrounded by stuff, history, intellectuals, people, parties, clothes, lights, rats-"

Regina rolled her eyes, thinking of the ones she saw occasionally- "Ugh, those rats."

"-it's all about finding where you fit in, you know? It's not just about the romance."

"I think the articles I am writing are automatically successful because Paris is a place that everyone is curious about," said Regina.

"Sure. Perhaps. But your writing and pictures are magical, Regina. You have a great touch with words, a great eye for photos. You made me want to get out, and experience life, not just think about school."

"I don't know how I'm going to keep writing this stuff and have it do well. If there's one thing I've learned from my years writing fashion, it's that tastes change really fast." Regina said, sighing.

"So the answer is simple, right? Make sure your work evolves with everyone's tastes. I don't think you're the kind to shy away from that kind of challenge," said Emma.

..•..

_That night, she lay awake. Regina stared at her ceiling, the shadows of her curtains fluttering in the breeze of the open window dancing and swirling, throwing the shadows into strange shapes and arrangements._

Work, Henry. Memories of Daniel. Her life had been only those things. Even after she'd moved to Paris.

Until Robin came along.

Maybe Emma had been right. Maybe she'd been too hard on Robin? He'd never done anything to suggest that he wasn't worth her trust. Other than withholding information - but that was not completely outrageous. What had stung was that Regina was caught off guard by Marion that one day, who knew so much more about Robin than she had. She'd felt betrayed by him just because he hadn't told her every single detail about his life.

And it's not like it was anything very current. The past was the past, and you can't change it. What he did when he was still really just a kid shouldn't be a deal breaker for them now, right? Honestly, if someone Regina had known had done what she did, and broke up with him for refusing to tell her 100% about his past, Regina would say it was ridiculous and that person needed to get over themselves.

She'd spent so much time over the past two weeks justifying her decision to stop seeing him because of the bad things about him. The stupid things he'd done, the information he'd withheld, his slightly unpredictable nature.

She'd just focused on the bad, never the good.

Regina rolled out of bed and walked to the kitchen and gazed out the window, her forehead pressed to the glass. The window was partially cracked open, and a fresh breeze carrying the scents of thousands of things in the city: the exhaust, the food, the ancient buildings, a whiff of over-ripe garbage, the sweet, heady scent of the flowers in her window box, it was all drifting into the kitchen. She took a glass of water, and sipped on it.

Robin had been supportive of her, and her crazy work life (except for those times when he'd _distracted_ her during a long lunch hour). He hadn't thought her impulsive or irresponsible for upping and moving to a new country, which is more than a lot of people she'd left behind back home. He'd also been so kind to her son. He even connected with Henry in ways that Regina herself didn't feel she could.

She thought of her latest piece for the column that she was working on: this week's topic was about where to go on dates in Paris. A few of the spots he'd taken her early on in her life in Paris made the list: bookstores, coffee shops, museums.

He'd done everything right, really. Except for being a flawless human being.

She shook her head, suddenly angry with herself, and gripped the side of the counter. She needed to stop. She wasn't perfect, he wasn't perfect.

Even Daniel hadn't been perfect.

Of course, in her memories, he was: kind, with his gentle smile, a loving father, a good lover…

But that was so long ago, and so much had happened. She had been a kid back then, really. In comparison to now. (Just like Robin had been a kid.) She was a different person now. She'd done so much, seen so much. Who knows where she and Daniel might be now if he were still alive. And whether he would be the same person, too. If they would be the same couple.

She returned to bed, setting the glass of water down on her nightstand. She rolled onto her back and resumed watching the shadows caused by city light streaming through her window and the curtains fluttering in the breeze, dancing on her ceiling.

Eventually, she drifted back to sleep.

..•..

Daniel came to her in a dream.

The two of them were in a place they'd actually been to a long, long time ago. A vast farm, green pastures, somewhere deep in Connecticut, where Regina had taken some riding lessons. Daniel's family who loved riding, had given her the lessons as a gift one summer after she expressed interest in learning.

In the dream, Regina had a recognizable outfit on: it was one she'd worn back then, when she was a young woman, a pretty baby-blue riding jacket embossed with a stripe, tan leggings, tall leather riding boots, and her hair neatly pulled back in a braid.

Although in real life that place had been relatively happy, in the dream it was filled with sadness. In her dream, she was panicking, upset and stressed. Her dream-self had the camera she used nowadays to shoot photos, and in the dream she was frantically taking pictures of the horse and of Daniel standing in his fine riding clothes, beaming down at her. She kept saying that she needed to take these pictures, for these would be the last ones she'd have of him.

Daniel was comforting, soothing her with kind words as she shuddered with nerves, with anxiety, with tears, and took her endless pictures. Then they each mounted horses, pretty chestnut-brown horses like the ones Regina used to ride at that stable. As they rode, the pastures in Connecticut inexplicably morphed into the grounds of Versailles, the same shady grounds with impeccable tall hedgerows, white marble statues and endless, perfect rows of flowers, where Regina had walked with Robin that one blissful afternoon.

"I can't be with you any longer," dream-Daniel said to her after they had ridden for a while.

"No, please, please don't go, please don't leave me," Regina protested. "I know you don't like it here. But we can go. You can ride horses all you want, we'll move anywhere you want, out West, back to Maine, away from Paris or away from New York. Wherever you want to go."

"It's not because of that. Not because I don't want to live here," Daniel explained, his voice calm and steady. "I moved on. You must too."

"Why are you doing this to me?" dream-Regina replied.

"Because I need to. Take everything… the apartment, Henry, the horse, move on, and be happy, okay?'

"I can't," Regina said, her voice unconvincing. Then, she was no longer the girl in the blue riding coat, but her adult self, shorter hair, black pants, a simple grey t-shirt, white blazer, stopping her horse and dismounting.

"Please, please stay with me," she said firmly, her girlish voice gone, her voice firm and authoritative, the way it had become after years of school and hard work experience in New York, gazing sternly up at Daniel, who was still mounted on his horse.

"I love you, but I need to go. You will love again, Regina, I promise," were his last, soft words to her.

"No…" Regina protested, standing with her horse as she watched Daniel ride away, disappearing from the grounds of Versailles. He left Versailles, and somehow in this dream world, she saw him riding once again in his parents' yard in Connecticut, riding along the lush green lawns, the sunlight reflecting on the long grass. He rode into the nearby woods, and disappeared from her view.

..•..

Regina woke up the next morning and knew she wanted to talk to Robin.

She picked up her phone many times that day, yet couldn't work up the nerves to actually call or text him.

She took work calls, sat through a long monthly meeting with a few others on her team, sorted through her emails for the third time, making sure that the high-priority ones were all dealt with.

Until finally, late-afternoon right before she was to pick up Henry, she received a text. Grabbing her phone and glancing at the screen, she hoped it was from Robin.

Instead, she was shocked to see it was from Marion.

_Regina, I'd like to meet you sometime, for a coffee. Would that be all right with you?_

..•..

Regina met Marion at a small tea house tucked away on yet another quaint, narrow street. The sign outside said that it had been established in 1910. Inside, the cozy room was filled with wood-paneled walls and artwork, modern, with big, bold colors and bright strokes of paint. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Soft, relaxing music was playing, though not loud enough to drown out the hushed, polite voices of the elegant ladies seated at tiny tables around the room.

Marion was already there when Regina arrived (she glanced at her phone, she was a minute late). The woman was seated at a table set in a quiet little nook, off to the side and blocked from most of the rest of the dining area by a semi-abstract statue of what looked like a butterfly.

"Regina. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," Marion said in French, rising to greet her.

She then switched to English. Marion had very good spoken English, with just a touch of a sweet, lyrical accent.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you here," she said, smiling calmly at Regina as a waitress in all black carefully poured tea from an enameled teapot.

"I am. But I'm glad you did. I'm afraid our last encounter was a little unexpected - for both of us, and might not have left you with the best impression of me," admitted Regina.

Marion nodded. "I felt the same. But then I decided that if you are going to be spending time with Robin, and I want to allow him to see Roland more often, then I suppose I'd get to know you a little better. More than knowing you _only_ as that American writer who also happens to be seeing my ex."

"I would love to know more about you," Regina said, ignoring the comment about Robin and deciding not to update her on their current relationship status.

And so they sat, sipping tea from elegant white porcelain cups. (The tea blend was stunningly delicious, Regina discovered. Even though she was not a tea drinker, it was a blend of black teas with a slightly floral and slightly spicy taste that was very refreshing and pleasant). They talked about their respective careers and the challenges of balancing children with the demands of their work.

For most of the conversation, they ignored the elephant in the room, Robin. But after they'd eaten most of the small snacks they'd been served with the tea (scones and macaroons, small pieces of bread with pate, tiny sandwiches,) in the end, Marion finally broached the topic.

"Robin and I were never right for each other. It wasn't going to work," explained Marion, giving Regina an abbreviated version of their history, which corresponded to what Robin had told her.

"For years, I've been hesitant to send Roland to spend time with him for very long, because he seemed to be so… down. Down is the right word, I think? He was blue, you might say, only ever at work even though I know he doesn't love that job, no home and sleeping on the couch of a friend. He lacked direction. But now, he's changed. He seems different since he met you."

Regina laughed. "I doubt I am to credit for that. If anything, he changed me from being a workaholic mom with the insane idea to move across an ocean, to someone who occasionally gets out and does something different with her son on the weekend."

"But it is no doubt that he is motivated by your presence in his life," Marion insisted. "I feel more comfortable than ever before when sending Roland to spend time with him."

"I'm not with Robin all of the time, you know," Regina said, easing into the topic.

"I know. But I suspect you are contributing to a degree of stability in his life." Marion took a delicate sip from her cup of tea. She had long eyelashes that Regina noticed curled beautifully, and she wore a stack of gold bracelets on her tiny wrist that moved down her arm and jingled together pleasantly as she raised the teacup to her lips.

"It just seems he has more goals, and such, nowadays.." she said, her voice trailing off.

"I am getting married." Marion said after a moment, setting her cup back down and looking at Regina, her long lashes fluttering. "I hope that Robin will not find it a shock. I'm afraid he took our breakup quite harshly a few years ago."

"Oh," Regina replied, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "Congratulations. He doesn't know?"

She shook her head. "He knew I was in a fairly serious relationship, but that... no… that's new, as of last weekend."

Regina didn't say anything. She should really tell Marion that she and Robin were no longer an item.

(Or maybe they were not exactly _not_ an item?)

Regina remained silent.

"I hope he finds happiness, too. If our son can't see his parents happily together, I want him to see how a happy relationships _can_ work," Marion admitted.

"I'm not sure it's going to be with me," Regina tried again.

"Of course it might not be. But I see the potential for it to be," Marion said quietly.

They were quiet for a few more minutes.

"It's been nice to get to know you a little better," Regina said, hoping to shift the conversation.

Their conversation then drifted back to the topic of balancing their busy home lives with demanding jobs. Marion told Regina a bit about her upcoming nuptials (planned for December). They kept their conversation friendly, and although Regina sensed the two of them would probably never be friends, they were at least on far better footing than they had been last time. They could finally see eye-to-eye, as mothers who loved their sons dearly.

Afterwards, Regina couldn't go straight back to work. She wandered up and down the streets of the neighborhood where she'd had tea with Marion, which was a little upscale and a little bit bohemian, with many interesting and unique little luxury boutiques in the area that she made mental notes to come back and write about at some point. She passed an hour or two ducking in and out of a few little shops, absentmindedly wandering, not really shopping, but looking. And thinking. She kept an eye on her emails, and an eye on the time, but her mind kept wandering to Robin.

As she sifted through a rack of vintage blouses in a small boutique, she resigned herself to one thing: that she should stop avoiding it and go ahead and make the call to Robin.

..•..

Emma was her only babysitter. Emma also, unfortunately for Regina but fortunately for Emma, had a vibrant social life now that she was working and dating instead of spending all of her hours deep in books in the library. She went to parties, restaurants, outings with her significant other, talked of holidaying in the south of France for a week later in the summer, and Regina didn't have to ask to know that she wouldn't have a lot of availability to watch Henry.

How does one even do this? Regina wondered, contemplating how she'd ever manage to settle things with Robin alone, in private, without Henry's watchful eyes or the pressure of having to be back to meet him at a certain time. She didn't want him to know about her personal relationships, especially ones that were so up in the air. He already was too attached to Robin as it was; she didn't want to get his hopes up.

And then Henry came home from school one afternoon and told Regina about summer camp. Some others had been talking about it at school, and he seemed interested in getting out of the city, seeing the countryside, learning new things. He was particularly enthusiastic about going to this camp because there was archery, and he knew Robin could do archery and that had piqued his interest.

Regina could tell that the prospect of getting away from under the wings of his mother and leaving the city, which she knew was stifling to him, excited him. And so it was with reluctance (and a twinge of sadness that her boy had grown old enough to have opinions about how he should spend his summer) that Regina allowed him to go. It would be his first long stay away from "home."

"Are you sure you want to do this? Go to camp for 3 weeks?" Regina asked him one night for the millionth time.

"I do," Henry said, nodding eagerly. "And you can visit - there's a parent day. You'll be there, right?"

Regina nodded and hugged him. "Absolutely."

Typically, a spot at such a nice summer camp had to be reserved and arranged months in advance, but one of Henry's schoolteachers, Mademoiselle Blanchard, worked at the camp and agreed that it would be a good experience for Henry. She pulled some strings and found Henry a space at the camp in the place of someone else who had withdrawn at the last minute.

And so it was with a heavy heart when Regina dropped him off early one Saturday morning with the group of campers and supervisors, including Mlle. Blanchard, at a train station, and waved goodbye.

"Just like Harry Potter," said Henry enthusiastically as she helped him on to the train with his suitcases for camp.

"Yes," she said, laughing. "Have a good time, call me whenever you can. I am always here for you, no matter what, if you need anything at all," she said, leaning forward and kissing him on his forehead, then brushing her forefinger affectionately along his chin.

"I will," he said, grinning.

And then Regina was on her own for 3 weeks.

..•..

Finally, she made the call.

Robin agreed to meet Regina the next day. She paced her apartment, feet bare in the summer warmth, sipping an iced coffee, listening to the birds in the courtyard outside play and chirp, plotting in her mind what she'd say to him.

Robin met her at her apartment the next evening and then they walked to a little bistro around the corner. It was one that Regina had passed many times but had never tried, as it was only open for dinner and she hadn't had a chance to go on many proper dinner dates with Robin.

It was late and the restaurant had a relaxed atmosphere, just the ambient light from the street and the light of a candle in the center of the table, flickering in the gentle night breeze, illuminating their faces. It was a hot night, but pleasant rather than stifling, and the restaurant had a man playing a soft, classical song on a guitar that further added to the gentle ambiance.

Regina smiled as Robin chivalrously pulled out the chair for her to sit down.

They were quiet, but oddly at ease together. They were different than they had been before all of Robin's revelations about his past: there was no silly teasing or goofy jokes, or jabs on Regina's part about Robin crashing in her apartment.

Instead, they seemed to be getting to know each other again. It was kind of like a first date, and when Regina lightheartedly pointed that out, Robin agreed.

They were acting a little tentative, just a bit more hesitant than normal, careful around each other. At the same time, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about their jobs and the things that had happened in the last two or so weeks since they'd parted. Normal things that people on a date might discuss. Regina filled him in on the news about her blog articles getting picked up in the print edition of the magazine.

'That's wonderful," Robin said earnestly, holding up a glass of wine that they'd poured from the bottle they'd ordered and meeting her eyes. "And very well deserved. Cheers."

"It was great news, but I must admit, strange timing a few weeks ago," said Regina. "With… things between us not on solid ground."

"Ah, but what you write, it's more than just about us," said Robin. "And it deserves to be recognized, no matter what happened between us."

"But you did help me come up with much of the inspiration for those pieces. I suppose I owe you a bit of a toast, too. My success is owed a little bit to you, and the fact that you have lovely taste about what to show me in Paris." Regina said, slowly.

"Well, what can I say. I am glad I was useful," he said, his blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

She smiled. "You look good tonight."

"And you look positively radiant," he said, leaning forward and keeping his eyes on her.

"If you are now trying to guarantee that I will have enough inspiration to write at least 1 or 2 more columns, then you have succeeded," Regina said.

He smiled. "You know, you have inspired me as well. I finally decided that I live in one of the fashion capitals of the world, so I went shopping and figured out how to dress myself more decently."

"I noticed your new shirt," Regina said. "You look very nice."

It was true. He looked particularly well-pulled together, in classic tan and white, rather than his usual khaki, woodsy colors. He seemed to be trying, for her. That was a good sign, she figured. A sign that he cared about what she thought.

As the night wore on under the deep, velvety ink sky, the music from the guitar player drifting into the street around them, they loosened up, laughing, moving, speaking even more freely. The conversation flowed from one thing to the next, they caught up on news about their sons, then talked seriously about Marion, and then the conversation turned to Robin's past.

"I just want you to know I wasn't angry when you told me about everything that happened in your past. I just… I didn't know _how_ to react," Regina admitted, after they'd finished their main courses. "It caught me off guard."

Robin lowered his eyes. "I shouldn't have kept so many details from you for so long, especially ones that you were bound to find out eventually anyways. And you should know, I don't regret any of my choices," he said simply. "They have led me to who I am."

"You shouldn't regret them," she said simply.

He leaned towards her. "They've even led me here. To you. Right now."

"I'm not perfect," Regina said slowly. "It would be hypocritical to expect you to be. What I am is very used to being on my own, though."

"Do you really want to?"

"Do I really want to what?" Regina asked.

"What I mean is, all this-" he waved his hand around "-your work, living situation, raising a son, you don't have to do it forever on your own."

"Well, I know that."

"Do you? Because sometimes - like recently - I do feel like you push me away, Regina."

She bit her bottom lip and looked down at her plate.

"You had every right to be annoyed with me, but that felt like downright rejection."

She sighed. "I did push you away. I wanted to get away from you, okay? And not just because of those things. But sometimes I don't really believe that someone would want to be a part of my life. I'm busy, with work and with a son, those two things take up my entire day and part of my night. I don't have a lot to give to anyone else."

"I'm not sure that's true," Robin said carefully.

Regina didn't say anything.

"Because," he said, reaching out to touch her hand, "you think that you and I as a couple, what? Is selfish on your part? That I'll get bored because you have things in your life other than me? Somehow that being in a relationship diminishes you as a mother, or as a brilliant writer?"

Regina shrugged. "Maybe. Yes. To it all."

"Well, let me make it clear. I _can_ support you, in the sense of _being_ there, to be supportive of you and all that you do."

Regina took a deep breath and nodded.

"It's not selfish to want a partner in life," he continued, then lowered his voice to admit, "I want one, too. And whether that's with each other or not - and I'll be honest, the idea of having _you_ as that partner is indeed very appealing to me - it's not a completely silly thing to want."

They were quiet for a few moments.

"Do you want a home, though? Commitments? Stability? You've been quite the bohemian for a while, always on the move, for several years," she wondered.

"Yes, I want to provide Roland stability. I don't want him to only have that with his mother, and then he sees me, his father, and I'm _that_ guy. The one crashing in friends' apartments or renting temporary flats. It's no way for me to be," he sighed. "What kind of influence would that be?"

It was Regina's turn to reach out and take Robin's hand this time.

"You're not being silly for providing for your family and a home for your son. You are allowed - even _encouraged_ - to take care of your own family before you help others. There's nothing selfish about that, and it won't mean that you are destined to take on the lifestyle and habits of your parents if you do so," she said.

Robin nodded.

"Now," she said, clearing her throat and relaxing a bit, hoping to break the tension from such a serious discussion. "Now that we've covered all that, what next, Mr. Locksley?What do we do?"

"Well, I know what I want."

"And what is that?"

"Perhaps we could once again take up the lifestyle and habits we had a few weeks ago?"

"I believe could live with that," Regina said.


End file.
